Pinkie and the Spy

by Guesswork

Chapter 3: Lucky Seven

Chapter 3

From the outside, the CI safe house looked like just another run-down, pay-by-the-week apartment building. The white, stucco walls of the four-story walk-up were streaked by decades of dirt and soot. Not only did the ground-floor windows have heavy bars, but many of them looked like they'd been glassless for years. A rusted sign promised, "Prefurnished!"

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the place and Pinkie paid the driver what was owed, plus a sizable tip for his discretion. Then she and the Agent wrestled the blue earth-pony assassin through the front doors into the vestibule.

Pinkie wouldn't have thought it possible, but the building looked even worse on the inside. Rats, roaches, and cracked tiles greeted them as they entered. Mold grew along every inch of grouting, and the bare gas-lamp in the ceiling was an open buffet for a lively insect ecosystem.

The Agent rang the bell for number seven.

"Lucky seven," commented Pinkie.

"Let's hope so," said the Agent.

After a moment, a female voice came back through the speaker. "We don't accept salesmen!"

"Of course not, ma'am," said the Agent, "but I am offering a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here. Do yourself a favor and take a look at our great deal on Encyclopedia Canterlotia. Everypony should be informed."

A pause. Then the tinny voice again: "I'm not interested in volume Q. I already own volume Q."

"That's okay, our set was never printed with a volume Q. We offer two volume R's instead."

Another long pause.

"Are they going to let us in?" whispered Pinkie.

"Either that or release the poison gas."

Pinkie giggled, but her laughter faded when she realized he was serious. She wondered how quickly she could get to one of her emergency stashes of gas-masks.

After another tense minute, the inner-door buzzed at last. The Agent lifted the blue mare onto his back and pushed into the building proper with Pinkie following close behind.

The stairwell interior was spartan and not much better maintained than the vestibule. They passed a few shabby-looking residents on their way up the stairs. It was the kind of place where the sight of a pony carrying an unconscious mare went essentially unnoticed.

"This place has real ponies living in it?" said Pinkie.

"Yes," said the Agent. "Our destination is only one of four floors. The other tenants add that certain je ne sais quois that has kept this place hidden for more than a century."

They passed a wino, drunk in a corner. His cutie mark was a tan jug with three X's on it. "Spare a bit?" he wheezed.

Pinkie tossed him a few coins.

"Celestia bless you!" he said.

After they'd walked up another flight, the Agent glanced at her sideways. "He's just going to spend it on booze."

"So was I," said Pinkie with a shrug.

At last, they reached apartment seven. There was a broken gas-lamp in the hallway just outside the door. The Agent rolled the blue mare off his back and propped her up against the wall. He knocked three times, then twice, then once.

"Secret knock?" asked Pinkie.

"More of an inside joke. Spies playing spy, you know?"

A number of hollow clicks sounded from the door as multiple locks disengaged on the other side. Then the door flew open, revealing a middle-aged, silver-haired, orange mare. She took one look at the Agent and whistled.

"Well, well!" she said. "Look who's come crawling back!"

"Hey, Maple," said the Agent. "It's darn good to see you. Can we come in?"

"Yes, yes, of course, dear!" said the old mare, stepping back to clear a path into the apartment. The Agent bent down and hefted the blue assassin onto his back again. Maple's eyes grew wide.

"Gracious!" she said. "I thought she was just another hallway junkie!"

"She's on drugs, alright," said the Agent, pushing through the door. "But not by choice."

"If you know what he means," added Pinkie. She noticed that Maple was a blank-flank, too.

Maple locked and barred the door behind them as they entered the safe house. The apartment was cozy and well-tended, unlike the rest of the building, and there were a number of rooms branching from the central living area that looked to be stocked with specialized workshops. One, for example, sported a miniature printing press and other materials for faking documents. Another seemed to have a lab of some kind, and yet another room housed a miniature hospital with two beds.

"Pinkie, this is The Maple Leaf, espionage extraordinaire," said the Agent. "Maple, this is Pinkie Pie, the Element of Laughter."

"I've seen you in the newspaper," said the older pony, shaking Pinkie's hoof. "You're even prettier in the flesh!"

"Thanks!" said Pinkie. She sniffed the air. "Uh, do I smell carrot-cake? With pineapples and a cream-cheese ribbon? That's clever, you'll have to give me the recipe."

Maple laughed. "This girl knows her cakes! Ten minutes, sweetie." She turned to consider the blue mare and arched an eyebrow. "Can I assume this one is a foe?"

"Yes, and let's get her tied up before the morphine wears off."

The old spy-master led Pinkie and the Agent through the archway to the medical-room, where they lifted the blue earth-pony assassin onto one of the mattresses. The Agent shackled each one of the blue mare's legs and secured them to the frame, which seemed specially designed for this purpose. He double-checked each of the restraints, then sat down on his haunches.

"So, what happened?" asked Maple.

"She put a rope around Pinkie's neck in a public restroom about half an hour ago."

Pinkie showed Maple her bruised throat.

"Oh, you poor thing!" Maple gasped. Then she shot the Agent a withering look. The Agent glanced away. "It's such a shame when civilians get hurt, isn't it?" she said.

"I'm not a civilian!" said Pinkie. "Celestia said that Elements have the diplomatic rank of Colonels. But I don't know what the hay we have to do with popcorn!"

"And how many years of combat training have you had, sweetie?"

"Uh, none? But it's okay, I still do good in a fight."

"Pinkie," said the Agent. "Tell her what happened to this assassin."

"Well, she was about to win, but then a train hit her."

"In a public restroom, Maple."

Maple considered Pinkie for a long moment. Then she shrugged and turned back to the Agent. "What are you even doing in Manehattan? You'd better not be investigating the you-know-what."

"I'm here to see the Wonderbolts perform," said the Agent. "I just love those guys. Front row tickets and I didn't even have to buy them from a scalper!"

"You're not supposed to be anywhere near this case, Agent."

"To hay with that, Maple!" he said, slamming a hoof on the ground. "Prism, Match, and Boxer in one hit? This is personal, and you and I are next in line. I'm surprised you haven't looked into it yourself."

Maple shook her head. "You've got to let CI take care of this, dear. No kidding it's personal, but that doesn't mean you can break policy. I chose to remain at my post, but if you think you're in danger, let the shop bring you in. "

"The shop thinks I'm on vacation. Are you going to tattle on me?"

She just arched an eyebrow at him.

"I can't let this go, Maple," said the Agent. "I'm sorry. I've got to find out who killed Match, and I can do it a lot faster than CI's monster-of-the-week team."

Maple let out a sigh. "Well, it's obvious you've got your mind made up." She turned to Pinkie. "I'm so sorry you got caught up in all of this." Maple lifted her own chin, showing Pinkie where a thin scar sliced horizontally across her pale-orange coat. "Nasty weapons, garrotes," she said. "Although I guess all weapons are nasty in their own right."

"Go get some cake, Pinkie," said the Agent. "I'm not leaving this mare's side until we've gotten everything we can out of her."

"If you're not going to take my advice," said Maple, "will you at least eat something? You always push yourself so hard."

"He does," Pinkie agreed.

The Agent didn't answer Maple's question. Instead, he reached into his saddlebag, retrieved a tightly-rolled velvet cloth, and undid the tie holding it shut. The black fabric opened itself on the floor. Attached were a number of metal instruments that looked like tools a dentist might use to treat a dragon's toothache. The Agent doubled-checked that the tools were all there, then leaned against the wall and stared at the blue mare with a cold, all-business expression. "If she doesn't wake up on her own in twenty minutes," he said, "I'll need access to your pharmacy to speed up the process."

"Of course," said Maple with a nod.

Pinkie stared for a moment at the would-be assassin mare in the bed. Then she looked down at the black-velvet roll of tools. She remembered her own brief fantasy, concerning the carving knives. "I don't know about this, Agent," she said quietly. "I don't know if I want you to hurt her like that."

The Agent glanced up at Pinkie, and Pinkie took a step back. There was something in his eyes. Something cold...

Maple approached Pinkie from behind and put a gentle hoof on her shoulder. "Come along, sweetheart," she said. "Let the Agent do his work. We should take five and get some dessert, yes? I can tell you've had a hard night."

Pinkie followed Maple across the apartment, into the kitchen. She glanced behind her as she did, and saw the Agent slowly running his hoof over the steel implements. Then he was out of sight.

* * *

The carrot cake was delicious, and after a second slice, Pinkie started feeling like herself again.

"You love him," said Maple.

"Yeah," said Pinkie with a sigh.

"But you're afraid of him, too."

Pinkie glanced up, then nodded.

"Loving a spy is one of the hardest things in the world," said Maple, sipping her steaming-hot tea. "But loving as a spy is even harder. Remember that when things get tough for you two."

Pinkie looked at her for a few moments before nodding again. "Okey-dokey-lokey." Then she said: "You've known Agent for a long time, haven't you?"

"Honey, I knew him before he was called 'the Agent.' And let me tell you, he was handsome even as a rough-and-tumble colt."

"Was he born gray?"

Maple's eyes sparkled with mystery, but she only sipped her tea again.

Pinkie raised both her eyebrows. "Well? What colors was he? What was his cutie mark?"

"Sweetie, don't take this the wrong way, but in this business, it's quite a faux pas to ask questions like that."

"How am I supposed to love him if I don't even know who he is?"

"You already know who he is, dear," said Maple. "You just want to know who he was. And maybe it's better that you not know. Not if you feel this way about him."

Pinkie didn't say anything.

Maple laughed. "Then again, I can see you've got that same spark of curiosity that he does. You'll never rest until you know."

"I guess not," said Pinkie, looking over as if she could see the Agent through the wall.

"Then maybe one day, he'll tell you," said Maple, getting up and taking her dish to the sink. "It's not my business to reveal his secrets to you, though. As much as I'd like to." She winked and Pinkie giggled.

They were interrupted by the sound of an alarm, coming from elsewhere inside the apartment.

Pinkie Pie was up on her hooves in a second, fully expecting enemy spies to come smashing through the windows. "Are we under attack??"

"No," said Maple, "that's the medical alarm." She cantered out of the room and towards the hospital bay. Pinkie followed close behind.

They arrived to find the Agent performing CPR on the blue mare.

"What did you do??" asked Pinkie.

"Nothing, yet!" said the Agent. "She just started coding out of nowhere. Get the crash-cart!"

Maple ran over to the corner and hauled back a wheeled-trolley stacked with medical equipment.

"What can I do?" asked Pinkie.

"Just stay out of the way, sweetie," said Maple, handing the Agent the defibrillator paddles.

Pinkie backpedaled until she hit the wall, then slipped into the doorway. She watched the Agent place the paddles on the blue mare's chest, while Maple adjusted the dials.

"Three-hundred, Agent," said Maple. She started preparing a syringe. "Atropine?"

"Stick her," he said, and Maple made the injection. "Clear!" said the Agent.

Zap!

Nothing.

The Agent continued compressions, then squeezed the respirator bulb. "Four-hundred," he said. Maple adjusted the dials again. "Clear!"

Zap!! The pony convulsed on the bed, then fell back again and lay still. The EKG ran a flat line.

More compressions; a squeeze of the respirator bulb. "Five mils of epinephrine," said the Agent. "Charge to six-hundred."

Maple just looked at him.

"Five mil EPI!" repeated the Agent. "Charge to six-hundred!"

"It's over," said Maple. "We've both seen enough to know."

The Agent's voice was like ice. "Charge the damned machine, Maple."

The old spymaster regarded him calmly. Then she administered the second injection and turned the dials on the defibrillator. "EPI in. Six-hundred and ready."

"Clear!"

Zap!! The pony's back arched and she strained against her shackles, dragging the metal cuffs across the bedframe. Then, once again, she fell back and lay still.

No pulse, no breathing.

The Agent glowered for a moment, breathing heavily. Then with both hooves, he pried open the blue assassin's mouth, dug around inside for a moment, and fished out what looked like a tooth.

"Cyanide capsule," said Maple grimly.

"Horseradish!!" thundered the Agent, and he bucked a hole in the wall.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Pinkie sat on the edge of the bed in one of the safe house's sleeping quarters. The Agent was standing before the full-length mirror, strapping on a black-bladed dagger and loading a pump-action crossbow. He screwed a sniper-scope onto the weapon's accessory rail, then aimed at the floor and peered through the lens.

"What do we do now?" asked Pinkie.

"I've got a few leads to investigate," he said, loading a magazine of quarrels into the bottom of his weapon. He racked the pump-action with a cha-chuk! "I want you on the first train back to Canterlot Castle."

"No way!" said Pinkie, leaping to her hooves. "Somepony's got to watch your back if you're planning on going all crazed-berserker out there tonight. I'm supposed to be your bodyguard for pudding's sake!"

"I can't have you in the line of fire anymore," said the Agent, not looking at her. "I have to know you're safe. I'll send an advance request to have the Night Guard place you in protective custody until this is all over. Let Commander Oatmeal and the rest of his bats handle things; you'll be okay."

"I don't need a guard," said Pinkie, starting to get angry. She got up in his face and he took a step back. "I don't need to go back to the castle. I don't need you to make me safe. I'm an Element of Harmony! I've fought and beat worse bad-guys than some lame pony assassin. Nightmare, Discord, Lord Smooze--"

"You almost got garroted tonight!"

"She took me by surprise," said Pinkie, waving a hoof. "If I'd seen her coming, she never woulda' touched me."

"Why don't you just do as I say!??" thundered the Agent.

Pinkie Pie crossed her forelegs and arched her eyebrow at him. She tapped her rear-hoof on the floor impatiently.

The Agent groaned and turned away.

"You're not acting right," said Pinkie. "You're not like this."

He slung the crossbow and sat down heavily on the bed next to her. He didn't say anything for a long time.

She could tell he was about to reveal something big. For once in her life, Pinkie willed her mouth to stay closed. She needed to hear this.

"I'm sorry I raised my voice at you," he said at last. "Look... I'm about to divulge some seriously classified information here, but you have a right to know what's going on. One of the ponies who was killed in the bomb attack last week, The Matchstick. He trained me. Eight years. If I'm any kind of spy now, it's because of him."

Pinkie reached over for his hoof. He glanced up at her and released a shaking breath as he accepted her comfort.

"When Canterlot Intel picked me up as a teenager," he said, "I was... I wasn't a good pony. I'd been in trouble for pretty much my whole life, hurt a lot of innocents. A lot. By the time CI approached me, I was looking at doing some really hard time. But the day before my sentencing--"

"For what?" asked Pinkie.

He looked at the floor. "Attempted murder of a police officer."

"Oh," said Pinkie.

"Anyway, the day before my sentencing I got a visitor, which was strange, since I didn't have any family. That was the day I met Matchstick. He offered me an alternative to prison: give my life over to CI. They took my cutie-mark, my name, and my colors, but they gave me a purpose. A good purpose, finally. I don't just owe Matchstick my training, I owe him my entire life. And now he's dead because someone blew him up, along with his boss, Prism, and his best friend, Boxer."

"Jeez," said Pinkie. "That sucks."

"It does." The Agent turned so that the lamp's orange glare in his glasses obscured his eyes. "But I'm going to put things right even if--"

Pinkie giggled.

The Agent made a face. "I don't see anything funny about this."

"Whenever you say serious stuff like that, you turn so that your glasses get all reflecty."

"You noticed? I always thought it looked spontaneous."

"It does," she assured him, but she giggle some more. "Sorry, sorry," she said. "Ahem! Serious." She made her serious face.

He took her into his full embrace and kissed her on the forehead. "I just found you, Pinkie. I can't stand to lose you to this thing. Matchstick was a spy, and in the end, he died a spy's death. But Pinkie Pie, you... you're so..." he shook his head and found himself at a loss for words. He squeezed her even tighter.

"This is never going to end, is it?" she said softly. "Trouble follows you."

"It comes with being a blank-flank," said the Agent. "But this one is personal."

She drew back and looked him in the eye. "Because of Matchstick?"

"Because of a number of things," said the Agent. "I don't know, it could just be coincidental to the case, but..."

"But you've got good instincts," said Pinkie.

The Agent nodded. "What I'm smelling here is a vendetta. There was no reason to blow up that meeting besides murder. Trust me, I went through the diplomatic backlogs, and you know what they were doing there, at the restaurant that day? Having lunch. It wasn't even a spy-meet, it was just a few old professionals shooting the breeze. And then boom." He spread his hooves to simulate a bomb-blast. "Personal, not political."

"Who, though? Did Matchstick have any enemies?"

He just looked at her.

"Okay, silly question. But who? Do you have any idea?"

"Maple is working on the assassin's corpse right now in the forensics lab. We'll just have to see what she comes up with."

"You're all armed to the teeth and stuff," observed Pinkie.

"Call it a hunch."

"A hunch of what?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Pinkie didn't say anything for a few moments. Then she said: "Why did she kill herself?"

"What?"

"The assassin. Why did she kill herself with the cyanide thingie? If this was somepony else's personal vendetta, I don't know why she'd be willing to die for it. Try to escape, sure, but suicide? That doesn't make a muffin's worth of sense."

"You're right," said the Agent. "It doesn't."

At that moment, Maple knocked on the door. The Agent moved to open it.

"Just got finished with the preliminary forensics," said Maple.

"And?"

"She's a griffin. A transmuted griffin."

"I thought so," said the Agent. "Let's go take a look."

They walked out into the main room. Before they'd had a chance to turn down the hall to the lab, however, the Agent unslung his crossbow and aimed it directly at Maple's back.

"That's far enough," he said. "Sit on your haunches and put your forehooves behind your head."

----------------------------------------------------------------------
Picture Credit:

http://th02.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/f/2012/165/0/c/pinkie_pie_cutie_mark_wallpaper_by_bigmacintosh7-d53fl9b.jpg
http://dentalefficiency.files.wordpress.com/2011/12/dental-xrays.jpg
http://th01.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/i/2012/008/4/6/pinkie_pie_wallpaper_by_alanfernandoflores01-d4lrbir.png

Comments

[Jake The Army Guy]

It's finally up!

I need to reread to get myself back up to speed. Once I do, I'll massage your ego a bit.

[Crimson Dawn]

OO I wanted to see more of this Agent Pinkie relationship and I am happy to see it in writing. Can't wait for more.

[Snowstreak]

And the plot thickens.
No, not that plot, that plot.
You know what I mean!

[UseFistNotMouth]

1315591

Even if you're still tentative, glad to see you've decided to at least post what you've been keeping in reserve. And always nice to see ya around.

Also, you might want to mention in the description that this follows the events of Daylight Burning, so nobrony gets confused.

[djthomp]

I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed your writing Guesswork, this is just great so far.

[aaaa_aaaa]

Why wouldn't they have a supply of cyanide antidote on hand for interrogation?

Also, betting that Maple is a changeling operative attempting to frame the griffons into a war against the ponies.

[notMurphy]

1328638 because by the time you know you need it, it's too late. And don't even suggest administering the antidote when you aren't sure the poison has been administered, the cure is nearly as bad as the condition.

[LittleSallyDigby]

Interesting.

[Sparx EmberFlame]

In-te-res-ting~