14: More Trouble Looming

Daeron, once he heard Amroth out, agreed to look into who among the janitorial staff may have been hired recently.

"I don’t do the actual hiring," he pointed out. "All non-teaching and administrative staff are hired by the college itself. Actually, they don’t so much hire as contract out."

"Which makes it easier to add or even replace someone," Amroth stated, "and none of us would be the wiser."

Daeron and Glorfindel nodded.

"How difficult will it be for you to check on this?" Glorfindel asked.

"Not very," Daeron assured them. "I have a list of the names of all staff on record. I insisted on that from the very beginning and each year I get an updated list. Here, I can bring it up for you now." He turned to his computer and punched in a few commands and a screen opened. Leaning over the loremaster’s shoulder, Glorfindel could see a list of people’s names categorized by department, so all the cafeteria staff were under one heading and those working in the gym were in an another. As Daeron scrolled down he saw another listing for the janitorial staff.

"This is last year’s list," Daeron explained. He punched in a few other commands and a new screen opened. "And this is this year’s list of employees. Put them side-by-side and it will be easy enough to see who wasn’t here last year."

Scanning the list, Amroth pointed to one name. "She wasn’t here last year."

Daeron checked the name. "Christy Ogden. Oh yes. She is a student here, but not of Elf Academy. She’s working in the cafeteria under the college’s work-study program."

"Is she a freshman?" Glorfindel asked.

"No. She’s in her second year and she’s a native of Wiseman. Still lives at home, as I recall."

"Anyone else?" Amroth asked.

"Hmm.... These two are also students who are here under the college’s work-study program. Jack Whitman is actually one of ours and Ciara McConnell is a freshman studying Theatre Arts. She’s eighteen and comes from Bettles. Ah... here... this may be a possibility. Humphrey Bogart."

"You’re kidding!" Glorfindel exclaimed with a laugh. "Oh lord, the names parents saddle their children with. Do you think it’s really his name?"

Daeron shrugged. "Odder things have happened but it’s almost...."

"Almost like someone wants us to know who he is," Amroth supplied. "Or perhaps, is just arrogant enough not to care."

"What does his record show?" Glorfindel asked.

Daeron called up another file, an employee record with a photo showing a Man nearing middle-age with a receding hairline and wearing glasses. He quickly scanned it until he found the relevant information. "Humphrey Bogart, born in ’74 in Wichita, Kansas. Moved to Fairbanks in 2000 and came to Wiseman back in March of this year. Education... hmmm... GED... seems to have gone from one low-paying job after another, never staying long at any one place." He turned to Amroth. "What do you think?"

"Is he the only person working here at the Academy other than those work-study students who wasn’t working here last year?"

Daeron scanned the other files even as Glorfindel and Amroth did but there were no other new names on the second list. "It looks like it," Daeron said after a couple of minutes. "Do you think he’s our man?"

"Could be," Amroth said with a shrug. "That history could very well be legitimate and I hate to accuse a person on the basis of their name or the fact that they moved into Wiseman so recently. The Agency trains its agents to be subtler than that."

"Well, at least we know what he looks like," Glorfindel said, standing straight. "We can keep an eye on him and see what he does."

"Without discounting the possibility that our mole is someone else. Someone we would never suspect," Amroth warned.

The other two ellyn nodded. "I’ll print this out so you can show it to the others," Daeron suggested and Glorfindel agreed. A few minutes later, he and Amroth left Daeron’s office to go their separate ways with Glorfindel taking possession of the Man’s photo. His first stop was to find the Twins.

****

Alex was also pondering whom the Agency might have put in place in and around the college. He did not have the resources to go hunting for them though. He only had a list of email addresses and strict orders not to contact any of them except in dire emergency. They were there solely as back up. Yet, Alex couldn’t help wondering about the change in procedure with Farrell suddenly calling the shots. He found that not only highly suspicious but downright annoying. It meant that he no longer had a free hand to play this game as he wished. He had the sneaking suspicion that Ambrose Elwood was never meant to survive. They wanted his former mentor dead and a part of him agreed with that. Elwood alive was a danger to them all especially when it was apparent he’d faked his own death. Whether to defect or simply to escape from the Game altogether, he did not know and ultimately it did not matter.

Yet, what he told Farrell was equally true: he was not in the habit of terminating a man’s life simply because someone inside the Beltway was feeling nervous. The fact that Elwood would end up here in Alaska teaching at an out-of-the-way community college lent credence to the idea that his former mentor had simply wanted to leave the Game and faking his death was the only way to do it. The Agency would never allow him to retire. He was too good at what he did. Alex, himself, firmly believed that he would never live long enough to see old age. In his line of work, undercover agents usually were short-lived and he accepted that possibility, little though he liked it.

Still...

What if he could disappear the way Elwood did? True, he’d been found out, but Alex suspected that was more bad luck than anything and save for those photos being sent to the Agency, Elwood’s existence would still have been unknown to anyone, including Alex. That had to count for something. The man disappeared for fifteen years, after all, and no one was the wiser. What if he could learn from Elwood how to do it? The very thought intrigued him. He could disappear as well once he tired of the Game, assuming he was still alive. He would probably have to wait until his mother had died, for he would not want to cause her that kind of sorrow and pain, though logically speaking, he assured her of that possibility every time he went on assignment. Yet, he thought there was a fine line between dying in the line of duty and faking his own death. His mother would grieve either way, but the grief would be more honest in the first instance than in the second and the cause of it more legitimate.

He recalled the grief he’d felt upon learning of Elwood’s death and the sense of betrayal he’d felt upon learning that he was alive after all. He never wanted his mother to experience that if at all possible.

Well, something to think about later. In the meantime, he needed to address the situation as it stood. Farrell was calling the shots, or so he thought. Farrell may indeed have been at this longer than Alex, but Alex was no tyro and he’d had very good teachers, one of them right here in Elf Academy. He entertained the thought of actually going to Elwood, reveal his identity and enlist the man to aid him in getting Farrell and therefore the Agency off both their backs, but dismissed it almost at once. Even if Elwood agreed to help it would be too dangerous for them both and there were others, innocents, who could be caught up in all this and there was the real possibility of them getting hurt. Alex was a firm believer in keeping collateral damage to a minimum.

And so things remained status quo for a time. Alex continued going to classes and interacting with the other students, making friends among them, finding himself going deeper and deeper into his persona until Artemus Gordon Meriwether ceased to exist for the most part. He’d set up a program on his laptop that automatically generated the same email message to Farrell he’d sent the first time every Friday at 11:55. He didn’t even have to be on the computer at the time. Farrell and the rest of the accreditation committee had long since gone and he had no further contact with the man.

More than one person breathed a sigh of relief when the accreditation committee finally left, though Marian reminded them that they weren’t free and clear yet. "They’ll go over everything and make a final recommendation," she told the rest of the Academy’s staff. "We should hear from them in about a month or so."

"Do you think Farrell will do something to see that we don’t get the accreditation?" one of the Elves asked Glorfindel, for they all knew the truth of Farrell’s identity, though that knowledge was still kept from the Mortals.

"I don’t know and there’s nothing we can do about it," Glorfindel answered with a sigh. He’d had to deal with all of the members of the committee and to his mind Farrell had seemed very hostile towards them while his fellow committee members had kept a neutral face to their interactions with the Academy people. It was anyone’s guess which way they would go.

In the meantime, they were encouraged to go on as usual and the teachers resumed their original schedule of lessons. A close eye was kept on one Humphrey Bogart, known to his fellow workers as ‘Bo’. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual about the Man except his name. He was quiet and polite and did his work competently. The cleaning company he worked for had heard no complaints about him when Daeron did a discrete check. When Amroth questioned one of the other janitorial people in a way that did not arouse suspicion, he learned that Bo was well liked by his fellow workers.

"He’s a bit shy," the woman told Amroth with a smile, "but he’s sweet and tells the funniest jokes."

So, that apparently was a dead end. If Bogart really was a plant, he was a very good one and not even Amroth could detect any discrepancy in the Man’s background that would give him away.

"So, does that mean he’s not a spy?" Elrohir had demanded in frustration when Amroth reported what he had learned. They were meeting in the conference room in Edhellond waiting for their Mortal friends to join them for their weekly meeting.

"No," Amroth assured him. "It only means that I cannot tell you definitely one way or the other."

The other Elves cast him sour looks.

"This gets us nowhere," Gil said with a sigh. "I wish you would just confront our young spy and get it over with. I’m really tired of this cat-and-mouse game we’re all playing. I’d like to teach my classes without constantly wondering what the young Man sitting in the second row is truly up to. At the moment he’s acting very much like any of the other students, and quite frankly, that scares the hell out of me."

More than one head nodded in agreement.

"He’s going deeper into his persona," Amroth said with a thin smile. "But make no mistake that somewhere inside him, he is still who he truly is: a government agent and a trained killer. You have every right to be frightened, not for yourselves, I know, but for all those around him."

"I am most concerned for Derek Lowell," Glorfindel said, entering the conversation for the first time, "as well as the others he’s befriended. They need extra protection."

"Well, while we’re all able to provide such protection, we certainly can’t do it on a twenty-four-hour basis," Elladan pointed out.

"No. That’s true," Glorfindel averred. "Therefore I’m asking for help from the Maiar who are around." He smiled at the nonplused expressions on the other Elves, though the Twins looked more wary than anything else.

"And are they around?" Serindë asked, casting nervous looks about the room.

"Yes, and at least one of them is within this room," Glorfindel said calmly. "I’m sure my request will be relayed to the appropriate ears forthwith. In the meantime, I think...."

But whatever he was going to say, he was not given an opportunity, for there was a sudden shimmer of lights and the air became redolent with the scent of apples and mint as someone made his appearance. The Elves all came to their feet, more from surprise than out of respect. Only Glorfindel appeared calm, the others were all staring at the person with their mouths hanging open, for before them stood one in full battle dress, his sword, a shimmering blade of incandescent light, in his hands. A surcoat over the fine mithril chain showed an eagle, and they knew this was one of Lord Manwë’s People.

Glorfindel moved around the table to greet the Maia, his face wreathed in a wide grin. "Fionwë. It’s been a long time."

Fionwë sheathed his sword. "Too long, Sword-brother," he replied with a laugh, giving the Elf a warrior’s clasp and then hugging him.

"So what brings you here, as if I didn’t know," Glorfindel asked with a smile.

"Your request has been heard and answered," the Maia said, giving them a sober look. "We’ve kept this place under surveillance for some time now by my lord’s orders. We cannot interfere with what happens, but we can, and have, manipulated things a bit."

"Manipulated how and who?" Glorfindel demanded with a frown.

"Oh, in small matters only," Fionwë said, stealing a look at the other Elves and giving Glorfindel a sly look. He bent down as if to speak privately into Glorfindel’s ear but everyone heard him whisper, "Who do you think finally got that thick-headed son of Elrond to ask the fair Serindë out on a date?"

"Hey!" Elrohir protested, looking extremely embarrassed while Serindë giggled and her parents gave them both indulgent smiles.

Glorfindel gave the Maia a searching look, finally nodding. "Just so we understand each other," he said and Fionwë bowed to him.

"You know us better than that, Sword-brother," he said. "Our orders are very strict. We will not interfere in the course of events unless directly commanded by my lord or one of the other Valar."

"Then, if I may be so bold," Daeron said with a sarcastic look, "why are you even here?"

If Fionwë was upset by the loremaster’s tone, he gave no sign. "We are here to see that no one does anything... stupid... or stupider than normal," he amended, giving Glorfindel a significant look.

Glorfindel, for his part, merely raised an eyebrow and sniffed. "I’ve never done anything stupid in my life."

Fionwë raised his own eyebrow in disbelief. "Joining the Rebellion and defying the Valar wasn’t stupid? Getting yourself killed by a balrog wasn’t stupid? Challenging the High King of all the Elves to a duel wasn’t stupid? Throwing yourself at an ogolvrog and getting yourself mauled almost to death wasn’t stupid? Shall I go on, my lord?"

Glorfindel had the grace to blush under the Maia’s cool regard while the other Elves looked on in astonishment. Fionwë nodded in satisfaction. "As I said, my brethren and I are here to see that no one does anything stupid. And now I will leave you but know that I’m only a shout or a whisper away." Giving them a brief but respectful bow he faded from their sight, leaving behind the fresh scent of apples and mint.

For the longest time no one moved. Finally, Vorondur cleared his throat. "So... um... just what is an ogolvrog?"

"And why did you challenge the High King to a duel?" Barahir asked almost at the same time. He gave Glorfindel a suggestive look. "Enquiring minds want to know," he quipped and the others laughed, albeit nervously, as if afraid to offend their leader.

Glorfindel sighed as he returned to his seat. "An ogolvrog is a nasty creature and I’m very glad that we don’t have any here. As for challenging the High King, that’s too long a tale to tell and in the end the challenge was withdrawn anyway, so nothing came of it. Now, if we’re through interrogating me on my past sins, do you think we can get back to business?"

There were grins all around, for no one was fooled by Glorfindel’s tough demeanor. Before anyone could actually respond to his rhetorical question, though, there was a frantic sounding knock on the door. "Come in," Glorfindel called out and when the door opened it revealed Shane Engelbert, Mithrellas’ Mortal assistant and a good friend of the Elves. She looked distraught. Mithrellas rose to greet her.

"Child, whatever is wrong?" she asked, giving Shane a hug.

"I think we’re in real trouble, or at least, I am," the young woman said.

"Whatever do you mean?" Mithrellas demanded. "But come, sit and calm yourself." She led Shane over to her own chair and made her sit. Gil handed the Mortal a glass of water which she gratefully took. "Now, tell us what has upset you so, my dear," Mithrellas said as she stood behind her friend, giving her a neck massage to help calm her.

For an answer, Shane fished out a crumpled piece of paper from a pocket. "I got this today," she said, thrusting it at Glorfindel, who took it and unfolded it. He quickly scanned the contents of the letter, then looked up at Shane, his expression quizzical. "Your mother is coming for a visit? And that has upset you. I can see where it would be inconvenient but...."

"You don’t understand," Shane interrupted, nearly wailing in her distress. "She’s not coming for a visit. She’s coming to take me home. She’s coming to... to rescue me. I don’t want to be rescued. Please, I don’t want to be rescued."

And to the utter dismay of the Elves, the young woman whom they knew to be strong-minded and unflappable, full of self-assurance and native cunning, burst into tears.

Glorfindel sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment. As if we don’t have enough trouble, he thought to himself, even as he tried to think of something comforting to say to Shane and coming up blank.

****

Ogolvrog: (Sindarin) Evil bear. The Quenya cognate would be ulcamorco. Glorfindel encountered them in Aman while being trained by the Maiar in tracking evil (see Elf, Interrupted, Book Two).

Note: Fionwe’s mention of Glorfindel challenging the High King to a duel is from Elf, Interrupted, Book One. The incident occurred during the time of the New Year’s Tournament.