The Way to Hell

Chapter Two: Stormbringer

Never in her life was Ingvild so sorry for not taking a boy's number.

"CIA...? Really?" she hums, reading through the file with a silent storm raging in her mind. The acrid taste of failure stings in her throat and she swallows to ease down the bile. What are the odds that a target would walk into the ladies room just when she happens to be there, and then later come to sit and attempt to flirt his way into her bed?

'I could have taken him home and finish him right there...'

Having such a limited range of emotions, it doesn't take much to remain stoic, though she can still feel her blood seething. Disappointment digs its nasty claws hard in whatever it is that beats in her chest.

She knew right away there was something off about that man. He didn't resemble a 'Luke', and even though August Walker is an unfortunate, porn-star-generator type of a name, it sure sounds more suitable and a perfect fit for a guy who works around with a ridiculous 1970's 'stache.

His physic tells of a man who not only works out but who is also trained in professional combat and martial arts, which should have made her question his story about being robbed, but she was too busy toying with him for no good reason.

Now she will have to work harder.

"Requested by Erica Sloane herself," Liam states.

"Her majesty the queen? I guess they really are in deep shit if they contacted 'Icarus' to do the job for them." Ingvild's eyes scan through the file, gathering every bit of information. It seems like up until 4 days ago, August Walker was cleaner than a hand sanitiser with not even a speck on his record; an outstanding operative assassin, 12 years in the CIA with every mission performed with remarkable success. 

Turns out, this whole time Erica's "number one", was the leader of a terrorist organisation known "The Apostles."

"My, my, what an impressive man. Do you think they call him 'the hammer' because of his sexual nature?" Ingvild teases, looking at Liam with a playful smirk.

He rolls his eyes again and shakes his head. "What's wrong with you?"

Ingvild turns the file at him and points at August's photo. 

"Wouldn't you fuck him, Liam?"

"No," the old man answers coldly, looking at her thoroughly unamused and unphased by her behaviour. 

'Child's acting out again...'  He muses, easily analysing her behaviour; thirsty for attention which he would never give anyway. Her silver eyes rounding up and peering at him as if he's the father figure he was never willing to be.

"If the IMF was able to stop him, you and I wouldn't be sitting here having a nice chat," he explains while disregarding her games. "He had two nuclear bombs ready to be detonated in Kashmir."

A loud snort release from her nose, making the few people at the diner turn their head and glance at them oddly.

"IMF!? I thought you said this guy was dangerous."

"He's an anarchist and a part of a guild, so I'd take this more seriously and be careful if I were you," he warns, observing the young woman as she continues rummaging through the file with great interest. "He is their leader, wrote some manifesto or something."

"Strange, it's not in the file, this manifesto." 

Reading the file meticulously, she memorizes every detail: his height, weight, eye colour, skill sets, and the languages he speaks. 'Motherfucker pretended he doesn't understand Norwegian!"