“William.” Archangel spoke, offering his hand.
“Marcus.” Metatron replied, shaking Marcus Collins’ hand.
“I have a gift for you,” Marcus said, as the two moved over and sat down in opposite chairs. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag filled with two hand-rolled cigarettes, before saying, “My old room-mate from West Point told me that this will give you a ‘super head-high’. I’m hardly a connoisseur, but he never steered me wrong when mid-terms came up.”
“Oh my!” William exclaimed excitedly as he grabbed one. “You shouldn’t have! You know, we do try and smuggle in a few every now and then, but those Stasi asses I work with make terrible drug dealers. They have no conception of what constitutes ‘good weed’.”
“Well, a fringe benefit of being American,” Marcus replied jovially, as he lit his joint, “we have weed that you couldn’t possibly fathom.”
William lit his cigarette and the conversation paused momentarily, before exploding into a coughing fit. “…my god, Marcus…” William exclaimed through coughs, “This… this is the best you have ever brought.”
“Even better than the deep purple?” Marcus choked out through coughs of his own.
“Oh, far better. This… oh, this is… you have got to get me some more of this.”
“I certainly will if you can get me a channel. My old room-mate is a Brigadier in DC now. I think he has his son growing it for him.”
“Oh, is that what they’re doing in your capitol, these days?” William laughed.
“Honestly, it’s better when they’re stoned.” Marcus sighed, as he took another drag. “Honestly.”
“Politicians, eh? Can’t live with them; can’t shoot them. In your country, at least.”
“Maybe I should join the HVA.” Marcus laughed, as he reached over to the pieces on the chess table, and began picking them up, placing them on the board. “So, where were we, when last we played?”
“Oh, bother. I’ve forgotten… It’s been too long since we picked this game up.”
“Oh, cut the shit, Will.” Marcus said idly, as he placed a Bishop, “You’ve been studying this game every single day since.”
“Me?!” William exclaimed. “Why, that would be cheating!”
“So you are denying it then?”
“Marcus Collins, I am a man of the highest caliber of honor. To even insinuate that I would…”
“Oh, just shut up and put your pieces down.” Marcus laughed.
The two took a few minutes to place their pieces on the board. This game had been going on for nearly as long as the two had been opposing case officers. Even still, as old as the board was, few pieces had been taken by the other. It was a match between masters—men who truly understood the worth of each individual piece and its unique part to play, no matter how humble it might appear. Not a piece would die in vain if either had a thing to say about it.
“You know,” William began, “I often wonder if this is the longest game of chess ever played in the history of the game.”
“And the irony is no one will ever know.”
“We could dial the Guinness people up. We could blow our covers together; come clean about the whole thing; expose our agents and all of our assets and then we could be famous.”
“You joke…” Marcus said seriously, “But after some of the shit you’ve put me through this time around, it almost sounds like a tempting offer.”
“Oh, you enjoy it. You’re too good at this to not enjoy it.”
“Oh, I’ll never admit that.” Marcus smiled as he placed the final piece, a Knight, on the board, “You can infer whatever you wish, but you will never get a solid admission out of me.”
“You know, that really is your one fatal flaw,” William said seriously. “You are far too good at this.”
“And your flaw is that you work for the HVA.” Marcus said, staring at the board. “If you worked for an agency that deserved you, you could conquer the world. They honestly hold you back, Will. You’ve managed to keep up with my entire operation almost single-handedly.”
“I’m not joining your stupid agency. We’ve been over this a thousand times.”
“Oh no, the CIA wouldn’t take you.” Marcus smiled. “We’re an intelligence agency—not an after-school sports program for underprivileged teenagers.”
“Oh like you are one to talk! This go-round, you have been just as much a bleeding heart as me! That’s the other way I know it’s you—you copy my style.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Will.”
“Oh, it’s a brilliant plan.” William taunted him, “Always ask yourself, ‘what would William do?’ and you can never go wrong.”
“Well it works, doesn’t it?” Marcus laughed.
“It does.” William conceded. “And I’ve copied you on occasion, as well. Your style isn’t as fun as mine, but it’s efficient… and deceptively convoluted. Anytime my agents start acting like raving idiots, or the Soviets get riled up over some bunk-sounding intelligence that they’ve been following forever, I know it’s you.”
“Oh really.” Marcus said in a bored tone.
“Fly-fishing techniques, Marcus? Fly-fishing?!”
“I figured you would like that.”
“You didn’t even know it was me—and the stink-bug idea worked like charm, by the way, thank you—you could have caused serious damage to your own damn agency if I hadn’t been the one to catch it!”
“Oh, we have to have our fun, Will. Besides, you are the only person alive who could have saw the operation for what it actually was.”
“You know, Marcus, that’s how I beat you half the time.” William smiled. “I just look for an operation that’s too well-formulated, and assume it’s you. That, or I look for a perfectly-formulated plan with obvious miscalculations you couldn’t possibly make, and assume your country’s bureaucracy intended to leave me breadcrumbs. Lo and behold, it is. Take for instance, this latest nonsense with Matt York.”
“Oh, come now!” Marcus replied, shaking his head in disgust. “My hands were tied on that one.”
“Let me guess! You said, ‘He has to have a drug addiction, or else the GDR will never believe its punk!’, and they said, ‘But how will he pass a urinalysis’?!”
“No, that’s not…”
“I knew it. I knew it! With rivals like the Americans, it’s a wonder we even bother with counter-intelligence!”
“Look, Will, it’s not that…”
“And the best part is… he’s fucking British! He’s not even your agency’s agent and they still wanted to drug test him!”
“Oh, like your Stasi goons didn’t fall for it, anyway!” Marcus argued. “They are too inept to look that deep into it. And your HVA agents probably figured that…”
“Yes, yes, yes,” William interrupted, “that he had ‘spontaneously realized that drug addictions are incompatible with good, homegrown socialist values!’ I had to listen to our deputy director give that speech for nearly two hours trying to convince me. You don’t need to remind me.”
“It’s interesting that they would take that standpoint on drugs, seeing as how your butt-buddies in the Soviet Union seemed to like them so much at the Olympics.”
“First off,” William laughed, “look me in the eyes and tell me that America hasn’t used drugs on its athletes.”
“William.” Marcus smiled as he stared directly into his eyes, “We never used drugs on our athletes.”