Trafalgar Square

I don't think I really contributed much to the Outcross investigation those first few days. As I recall, I spent most of my time wandering around the business district of London with a worried look on my face.

London, it turned out, was just a bunch of concentric circles crawling with people. Either that, or my internal compass kept me whirling in tighter and tighter loops. The downtown district twisted this way then that, backtracking, hair-pinning, and just generally giving me and my phone's GPS a headache.

And it wasn't like I could ask anyone anything, either. Here I was, a lone American Specialist -- the second I were to open my mouth, my damn Midwest accent would tumble out and collapse, jet-lagged, onto the sidewalk.

" -- She might have left it in the CAHR -- "

The harsh, woefully familiar vowel sounds of my home country caused me to stop dead in the square. The place was running rampant with tourists, and here was yet another friendly-looking group with their cameras and passport protectors. Part of me wanted to blend into the group standing next to the bus, but the other part knew that the instant I were to step towards them, my phone would buzz, annoyed.

Fine.

I traced the main underground route (following bright red buses, basically) to the river. Quaint shops, cute couples, and a dark-haired girl scared to speak in a coat a little too warm for running scared in England.

Buh.

That was basically how every day went after Vyral and Deb vanished. I'd send texts to the Administrator with decreasing regularity; I found that whenever I figured something was of high importance, it generally wasn't. If I was supposed to be wandering around London by myself with no idea where to go or what to look for then hey! That was on the Administrator if anything happened.

Finally, finally, my phone buzzed.

The text simply read:

CHAI.

Chai? I turned a slow circle on the sidewalk. People bustled past me. I couldn't --

Oh.

Ten minutes later I was enjoying a steaming styrofoam cup of tea tucked against the wind talking to the shop owner, a sleeper Specialist who introduced himself (in the poshest accent I'd heard yet) as Eero.

"Thank you," was all I had to say.

"Don't thank me! Thank the Administrator. Prolly took pity on you at last, saw you bumbling around the city like a .. "

" .. Like a tourist."

"Eh, 'xactly."

Well, it was nice to know I wasn't alone at least. Not that a Specialist was ever truly alone, abroad, especially in a city this big. It was just a matter of when phones buzzed, and who had the nerve to walk up to someone and ask the magic question.

Are you Outcross?

Eero didn't ask me about the case, didn't ask me anything about where my partners had gone. He just let me sit there at a table in his shop and drink my tea while he attended to a light trickling of customers. It was these small acts of kindness that made doing all of this worth it.

Bzzt.

Another text, now, from the Administrator. An address. A time. A command.

BE ON TIME.

I hadn't finished my tea, yet, but I rose to my feet out of habit.

"Take a left," Eero advised as I made to head back out into the city. "Station is two blocks down."

I didn't even ask. I gave the barest sliver of a smile, and then I was gone.