Chapter 3
L.A.R gracefully perched herself onto a leather seat placed beside a large, oval table. She clasped her hands together and placed them under her chin, inspecting everyone sitting beside the table.On the other end, opposite her, sat The Head Of MI5, Sir Shawlers, although many suspect that's a fake name.
"Sir Shawl." She nodded her head at him in recognition, over the 3 years she had been working here, she had only twice seen Mr Shawl, make it three including now.
"Shantelle-"
L.A.R boldly raised her hand, cutting his sentence and receiving glares from everyone.
"Please, call me LAR."
Mr Shawl gave a curious look, but dismissed the subject with a wave of his, old wrinkled hands. "You requested to meet our colleges and ex-colleges, correct?"
"Correct, with purpose."
"Also Correct. Shall we move along?"
LAR nodded, her bob swaying with the movement.
"Every one of you, I will point my pen at you and you will introduce yourself and your job."
The old man pointed his inky pen at an even older man sitting next to him.
"Sir Mathews, Deputy head of MI5."
LAR leaned in closer, she had to question everyone intently. She was a detective after all.
"Where do you live?"
"Outskirts of London."
Leaning back, LAR gave him a questioning look. "Interesting, a very iscolated place, no?"
"Your implying..."
"Mr Mathews, why would you like to risk the fact of living so far away from MI5, away from all our security protection dotted around the country?"
"Perfect disguise. People like me are willing to take this risk, who would think that a deputy head of MI5 would live so far away from the company?"
LAR nodded, mentally ticking a box in her head, but she still had more questions. "But, no one knows where the company is. Unless..."
"No- I meant, I-If they ever did find out. Its called thinkıng one step ahead."
"What does your wife think of this?"
Bewildered, the man stammered, "My wife? What makes you think I have a wife?"
"It's an assumption Sir Mathews, and by the look on your face I assume you do."
The man stared at her, pure surprise etched onto his wrinkled face.
"Don't worry sir, I'm not a sidekick, I don't bite."
A few snickers rose from around the table. LAR knew any normal worker would be fired on the spot, but she was well-known for solving cases and they needed her on their side.
"As a matter of a fact, I do. She doesn't know about MI5."
"Aren't you a mysterious husband?"
Even more snickers rose.
Mr Shawl leaned forward on the table. "Get on with it, unlike some teenagers here, we don't have all day and have more important things to do than go home and gossip on networks like Facebook."
People were sniggering at her now, and LAR felt her face heat up.
Suddenly, "Sir, I beg your pardon, but that phrase was a bit incorrect, seeing as none of us are allowed to go on online Networks."
Her eyes shifted towards the person speaking. A 19 year old boy with thick, maroon-ish hair and intense pistachio green eyes. He was muscled, and had a thick accent. How comes she had never noticed him before? That accent, it was very familiar.
"Do you come from Australia?" For about a split second, she became Shantelle, not LAR. A strong, vivid sense of home-sickness washed over her, before she came to her senses and realised her mistake.
The boy just smiled at her. "Yes, is it that obvious?"
Mr Shawl banged his fist hard on the table.
"This is not a speed dating club!"
Titters rose from the table as LAR squirmed in her seat. By the sound of it, you'd think the head hated her, but he was like that with everyone. A snappy, moody old man, unlike the other colleges who would appreciate her with respect.
"Now, would you like to move on, Miss LAR?"
As she nodded, Mr Shawl pointed his pen towards the person sitting next to Mr Mathews.
"Clara Katherine, one of the top agents here."
"What do you do here, Clara?"
"Same thing you do."
"I'm not a-"
"Oh, I forgot." She smirked, patting her tight, fiery red ballerina bun so tight it could be used as a face lift. "You're just an extra."
LAR's eyes widened in surprise. "Nice. I risk my life for this company and this is what I get, inexcusable attitude."
Mr Shawl heaved a bored sigh. "Next per-"
"No. I need to question Clara further."
The brat seemed to be in her early twenties, and bad, intimidating vibes literally oozed off her.
"So, bra- Clara, list me some of your previous missions."
"I don't mean to brag, but there've been so many I don't even remember half. Although I can list some, firstly, I helped find some important, destructive files in an enemy office. I managed to rob some vital information from a very dangerous crew, I helped break into a-"
Her high-pitched annoying voice pained LAR's eardrums, so she lifted a manicured finger to cut the girl short.
"What would you say your best skill for MI5 was?"
The brat pretended to consider for a bit. "Hmmm, there have been quit a few, but I'd have to go with my ability to be silent, and not get caught."
"In other words, from your previous missions and your own words, your best technique is being sneaky and sly."
She started to mutter some mumbo jumbo about making her look back but Mr Shawl was obviously getting as tired as she was, for he pointed his pen at the next person.
And it went on like that, each person not giving her any clues. LAR left the building clueless and seething. Today, MI5 seemed to be really rude and catty with her.
As she headed towards the ımpatient Mr Grumpy, sorry- Jerry, sorry- Mr.Gordon, she bumped ınto an old sod wearıng a crınkled suıt headıng towards the entrance of the MI5 building. Not again.
She had dealt wıth these people before. Old, nothıng better to do, saw thıs ıscolated buıldıng noone had heard of, curıosıty drıvıng them towards the Gates.
'Morning sir, what drives you to such an iscolated place?" Plasterıng on a fake, close-mouthed smıle.
"Same reason as you."
The way he gazed at her made her uncomfortable, lıke he knew somethıng she dıdn't.
"I serıously doubt it Sır." She had to drıve hım away.
"And why's that so?'
"The reason I'm here ıs to visit a relatıve of mıne, whıch I doubt you know."
The old man faıled to budge, just leaned on hıs walkıng stıck wıth purpose.
"Hmmm... Why dıd he pıck here? A bıt ıscolated no?'
LAR gave a thın-lıpped smıle, darıng to stare hım rıght ın hıs wrınkled eyes.
"Just the way we lıke ıt."
"Funny," He started. "When I worked there, ıt dıdnt look much lıke a home to me."
Gaspıng, LAR stepped back. Thıs man was onto somethıng.
"Work? Ageing ıs takıng ıts toll, sır."
"Lısten lippy, I suggest you control your little mouth before you miss out on vital information that could easily put you out of danger. I used to work here, in this company, MI5 as a cleaner. I was as silent as a mouse you see, and eavesdropping was my skill. I heard some unwanted information, so they fired me. They knew no one would believe an old sod like me, everyone thought I was senile I was. I had to be put into a mental ward."
LAR's eyebrows furrowed. How could he know in there was MI5? It wasn't because he had worked there, surely not, MI5 had sown her all their ex colleges and recent colleges. That means he got it off someone, that means...
"You know the mole. He told you all of this." Her voice came out steady but steel-like.
The old man laughed. "Too right I know the mole!"
"Who is the mole? Tell me?" She grabbed his arm and clung onto it, forcing him to stay rooted to the spot.
At that precise moment, Mr Gordon marched out of the taxi parked a few blocks away.
"What's taking you so long, you-" His eyes then wandered onto the old man in front of him.
"Wh-Wh- WHY I NEVER! It's Senile Samuel!"
The old man gave him a deathly glare, his wrinkled eyes forming lines across his face.
Mr Gordon pinched his cheek, as though he was a kid.
"Ran away from the senile ward again have we?"
LAR watched as the old man was carried away, feeling only pity for his messed up brain. But, he knew something she didn't. She could sense it. Right as he passed her, his shuddery voice whispered into her ear.
"Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. That's what your doing child, without even realising it."
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