Zoe looked mean, well, the kind that looked like she was about to start yelling. But she held back, not wanting to be overcome with being a complete shithead that made up these ideas in the first place. The small Swiss girl instead cracked a giggle, sighing. "Wet from all the exitement of course!" She wrly replied, sighing as she dropped the soaking wet canopy and helmet, shrugging her shoulders. "Oh well. I suppose I had more fun than you!" She stuck out her tongue, before walking over and hugging the taller Columbian, almost leaping up to do so. While the two of them did have a turbulent relationship, they still got on, and well, the banter between them was almost constant. Even in spite of the fact that Zoe didn't give a shit that she just wrote off a bike and was hugging her partner still in a soaking wet state, it was just the way she was. Lackidasical, and not willing to pick up the fact that life was easy for her. And equally as dangerous and utterly insane. Just the way she liked it, Zoe thought to herself. After all of this, they'd likely get a van ride back home, and contemplate their next plan. Or whatever else it may have been on the horizon. Zoe Mercier felt like she wanted even more adventure than this, something even more stupid. And they'd make their name for themselves, push the boundaries and all to go with. --------- The two dead men lay silent in the flat, the two laid out across the floor of the small flat in Zurich's Altstadt district. Stab wounds, lots of. They looked Eastern European, leather jackets and tatty clothing of that affair, but the Marine that was alive in the room with them, sitting on the lone sofa in the room was not like them. In a warmer jacket and a pair of jeans, alive and well, with no scratches to him but a bloody knife. Sometimes wet work required a personal touch, and Mark didn't relent. He looked across at the phone, and gently reached for it, before standing up, looking out of the window. The phone dialled, as he put it to his ear, hoping the lady on the other end would pick up. Well, his sources had confirmed it after all. She'd done what was needed. And very efficiently, no less. "It's Mark Torridon. Put me through to Athena Rossi. Pronto." Mark simply said, as he heard the tone redial, that of a redirected call, as the Brit knew that Athena's phone would buzz. He waited and waited, just wanting her to pick up. He cut straight to the chase when he did, knowing there wasn't much time for polite chit-chat. "Well, you're very efficient, Athena. Clearly very good at what you do. I imagine you probably have begun to join the dots on this one right now. And before you ask, yes, I know I said we wouldn't talk again. Listen, I didn't want to do any of this but I didn't have a lot of time nor options left....and I knew you were in the loop as someone I could trust. Someone who knew the difference between right and wrong. And there's not a lot of people in the world left who can decide pieces of shit like Sobotka deserved to be in cuffs, rather than infiltrating our very systems. You did exactly what I expected you would when given the information. And so here we are." Mark begun, pausing for breath. "Anyway, enough with that. From what I heard and saw, you held yourself together and you seem to be someone who does what's required. So I'll make you an offer. You don't have to take it- you can walk away, put this number on block, whatever you feel is neccasary, as you won't be cotnacted again. Shit, I've already asked you for enough in doing what you did to Sobotka. But if you want, you can join me at Interpol in hunting down the people Sobotka worked for. And bringing them to justice, by any means neccasary. "I know you like making a difference and saving innocent lives, Athena. We stop these fuckers, and you can achieve a lot of that." Mark added, looking to the two dead bodies, and past them, the large pile of paperwork in their office in their flat. They may have looked smalltime, but the Interpol agent had found a small goldmine of details, of online bank accounts, details, information and everything else sunshine and lolipops nice. He awaited Athena's reply, ready for either response. He wouldn't blame her for walking away, anyone of a normal disposition would do that. But the offer was there. Just in case she was ready to step into Mark's world. ----------- [h1][u][b]Chapter 7: Open Roads[/b][/u][/h1] [img]https://live.staticflickr.com/8406/8682288215_203d79571d_b.jpg[/img] [url=https://www.google.co.uk/maps/place/Ei%C3%B0isskar%C3%B0/@62.2867471,-7.0203325,15.11z/data=!4m5!3m4!1s0x48bc1f4e1e78e771:0xd632c4a0e42de3da!8m2!3d62.2856933!4d-7.0099801][h2]Eiðisskarð, somewhere near Eiði, Eysturoy, Faroe Islands[/h2][/url] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-dbgYqpQ5UI]OST: Etherwood- Haltija [/url] The tiny gravel parking was located at the top of the mountain pass lcoated bottom of Slættaratindur, the sight of the waves crashing into the Faroese rock visible on both the east and western parts of this island. It was an odd place to visit, an oddly specific location, and for some reason to Ross, just the place his adventures took him sometimes. The sun was still burning through the early morning fog, the sight of snow on distant peaks, including at the top of tone that they were at the foot of. It felt strange, alien even, the narrow single-lane road not an easy one to navigate when they'd driven up to here But it was a beautifully smooth driving road, idyllic and with a whole series of switchbacks heading down to the east coast, onto a two-laned road with zero cops. In fact, the drive from Torshavn to here had zero cops on it so far, and this felt like a short breather, a rest break. A moment to get inventory. Looking behind, the [url=https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/17/Porsche_993_RS_Clubsport_%283%29.jpg]1995 Porsche 911 (993) Carrera RS[/url] was an odd choice for the Scotsman to have chosen. A car painted in a unique white and light blue to red pearlecent paint, with a Viking sticker slapped on the rear left window. It was an immacuately restored Porsche, but under the hoood was clearly packing a lot more. This was 90s vintage coupled with a heavily modified powerplant, suspension, tyres and brakes setup. It looked the business, and whilst not his, even Ross felt proud of it. A machine capable of handling these roads, as a real rallysport classic that Ross had borrowed from a local friend. Magnus Pal Haldorsson was a Faroese-born, Sheffield and Seattle dwelling Porsche-holic and well, what he did was make old vintages like this into machines worth looking at. Not everyone loved Porsche- Ross didn't find it to be his favourite brand, yet the way that they were restored by fanatics like Magnus made total sense. It was like the original vision had been broken down and painstakingly rebuilt, in such a way that augmented everything and made it a driving pleasure. A place to be that just wasn't the fastest or most cutting edge, but a place that felt....like you were driving a machine that had a soul. Magnus wasn't along for the ride here, but Ross appreciated his advice for the route they'd decided to take today. Ross looked across to Kimberly as he walked across the igneous rocky gravel, a smile on his face as he chuckled. "This is a hell of a place Magnus told us about. Shit, I can't believe he let me borrow his 911. Talk about scoring a fucking amazing hire car, right?" He chuckled, embracing his wife as he looked up at the moutain, and the surroundings. This was a strange place to be, but then again, to go driving out here was just a pleasure, as it was to meet one of Ross's old friends. That and get some time away from their business and other duties back at home, which would all come when they returned home in the coming few days.