Last year Sebastian met Anthea, and the Holmes brothers. He developed an intense distaste for the elder and held barely a passing interest for the second. He agreed to go for an interview with Langdale Pike and hasn’t had much more contact with the man.
He established his base in Adelaide, South Africa, and took more than a few pleasant business trips down to the Cape. He almost thought about picking up surfing, but then he brought Jim down to show off his work. They had to take care of some rival leaders and rented a boat, chummed off the back of the transom and Sebastian had to hold the men above the water.
Three men were fine, the woman lost a foot but her husband fell into the water and disappeared.
Sebastian has never thought about picking up any watersports since.
It had been a productive week for Sebastian Moran. Buenos Aires was gorgeous, of course, and he hadn’t expected anything less from the Argentine capitol. He only wished he had a bit more leisure time to enjoy it. His week had been spent shuttling himself in between the fancy hotel a block from the beach and various cafe’s, patios, apartments and even a botanical garden to meet with various lower level directors of the Rabiaro.
This sort of stakeout and prep work was what Sebastian was made to do. If he wasn’t on the other end of a scope he was scoping out the competition. It was part of the job and he’d be lying if he pretended that it was boring to him. Granted, having to deal with the shit-smoking cock suckers that passed for the lower rungs of the drug cartel was a trial, but it was necessary. It was embarrassing, really, but it was what he had to do in order to get the information he needed.
He had everything he needed a good twenty seven hours before JIm was scheduled to arrive. He took that time to schmooze at the bar, secure his arms contacts, reprogram the bugs the local police force-cum-militia had plugged in his room and even establish his alibi more solidly among the hotel staff. He was, to them, a wealthy real estate broker looking to expand his holdings to more exotic, international sites. His name was Keiran Byrnes and he was secure enough to not care about the women he talked to at the bar and then ditched at the elevator, wealthy enough to gamble away five thousand american dollars only to win it all back plus another two thousand after a second buy-in on the table, confident enough to go to the beach even with all his scars (“The war mate.” Keiran laughed with one of the men he had met last night “those fucking terrorist dune-coons will not show you any mercy if they get their dirty hands on ya’.” ) and most of all, they came away from a conversation with him thinking that he was very friendly and congenial to a fault, but there was something missing from him.
Then they would realize that the only thing they actually knew about him was that he was Irish and interested in acquiring land.
Which was true, to be fair, everyone would leave him thinking that Keiran was quite pleasant but more private than they had realized. Just the way that he wanted it. Sebastian wanted Keiran to be an impression, an image, and nothing more. That’s what the militia was worried about, the wealth.
But right now Sebastian Moran was waiting outside of the airport, leaning against a limo, smoking a fag, spare hand in his pocket. He was waiting for his boss to walk out the double doors, where he would be escorted to the Sofitel Buenos Aires. Sebastian had a man inside with a sign for Declan Haury who would pick up the man’s bags and escort him out.
It wouldn’t do for Keiran Byrnes to be seen carrying his boyfriends bags. No. He had people for that sort of thing.
Moriarty’s return smile was more of a smirk itself, mirroring Sebastian’s. The opposite side of his mouth quirked upwards and he tilted his head to the side.
“No, no…I wouldn’t have hired you if you missed. You wouldn’t miss whether or not I’d hired you.” He walked quickly to catch up with the sniper, standing too close as he looked up at him, drawing the other man’s green gaze down to meet his. Magnetic eyes, hard to look away from.
Like a snake, he made a sudden movement, his hand at the back of Sebastian’s neck as he pulled the man down to him. Their mouths were close; he breathed against the other man’s mouth for a moment.
“Nothing can we call our own but death.” His voice was soft, husky. He laughed, pulling away and releasing Sebastian. He waved his hand as he walked past him to the stairs, pulling out his phone. “Come on then! I believe you promised me breakfast!”
Sebastian stood still and resisted for a second before letting Jim bend him down. The sniper was frowning. Now was not the time to deal with the small eccentrics of this man. They needed to leave. Not to mention that Jim’s hand was at a glacial temperature.
Shakespeare? Now? Really?
Sebastian shook his head, and followed Jim glancing back at the spot on the roof just to check once more that he hadn’t left anything. Clean.
“Yessir.” Sebastian muttered, pulling the door shut behind them.