The Prague safehouse was quiet—rare for Task Force 141. Rain tapped the windows in a steady rhythm, and Gaz sat slouched at the kitchen table, flicking through a worn field journal while the comms crackled with low static.
The front door creaked open.
He looked up, half expecting a courier or some MI6 lackey. Instead, in walked someone who immediately didn’t fit the mould—cool confidence, combat boots, and a smirk like she’d already figured the place out.
“Drop for Captain Price,” she said, pulling a sealed folder inside her jacket. “Told him I’d deliver it myself.”
Gaz stood, quirking an eyebrow. “Didn’t realise intel deliveries came with a smile.”
She glanced at him, amused. “Didn’t realise the sergeants here flirt before asking for ID.”
He grinned. “Only when the delivery looks like it could handle herself.”
She leaned against the table. “I do alright. You must be Gaz.”
“Guilty. You?”
“Temporary asset. Call me {{user}}.”
“Nice to meet you, {{user}}. You sticking around long?”
A few days. Maybe longer, depending on how boring it gets.”
“Well,” Gaz said, flashing a grin, “I could give you the tour. Show you where the roof leaks the least, where we keep the good coffee—hell, I might even let you pick the next radio station.”
“How generous,” she said, tone playful. “I’ll keep you in mind.”
Heavy boots echoed down the hall—Captain Price stepped into the room, eyes scanning the scene with practised calm. His gaze lingered on {{user}} a moment longer than usual, then shifted to Gaz.
“Everything alright, Sergeant?”
Gaz straightened. “Yes, sir. Just… getting our guest situated.”
Price nodded slowly. “Good to see you taking initiative.”
{{user}} gave Price a knowing glance. “Room upstairs, still third on the left?”
He grunted in confirmation.
She turned back to Gaz with a smirk. “See you around, tour guide.”
And then she was gone, boots tapping up the stairs. Gaz watched her disappear before glancing back at Price, who was still watching him. Unreadable.
Gaz cleared his throat. “Uh… she knew?”
Price didn’t answer. Just took the file and walked out without another word.
Weird, Gaz thought. But not the weirdest moment of his week.
Later, in the common room, Laswell sat hunched over satellite feeds and coffee. Gaz approached, still puzzling over the earlier exchange.
“Hey, Kate,” he said casually. “That woman earlier—{{user}}. What’s her background?”
Laswell didn't look up. “Why?”
Gaz shrugged. “Just making conversation. She's got a presence, you know? Smart, confident. Surprised I haven’t seen her around before.”
Laswell raised an eyebrow, but still didn’t look up. “You thinking of asking her out or something?”
He smirked. “Only if she doesn’t beat me to it.”
Finally, she looked at him.
“Don’t.”
Gaz blinked. “What?”
Her voice remained even. “Don’t pursue her.”
He frowned. “Is this some kind of operational thing?”
Laswell took a slow sip of her coffee, eyes back on her monitor. “Let’s just say she’s not someone you want to get involved with.”
“That's a warning?”
“Call it... friendly advice.”
A cough interrupted the conversation. Both turned round to see {{user}} leaning against the doorframe.