Summary: One of the Secret Intelligence Service's most gifted operatives returns from lunch to find every member of his office murdered. Hunted by his own agency and branded the prime suspect, he has no one he can trust except the handler assigned to him. He's in a race against time to uncover the conspiracy before they find him.
Word Count: 2.4K
A/N: I know some of my older projects never reached the finish line, so I'm doing this one differently. This is a complete three part story, and I can't wait to share all of it with you.
Burn Notice is a conspiracy thriller inspired by Three Days of the Condor.
Secret Intelligence Service, MI6 Headquarters
85 Albert Embankment, Vauxhall
"I need analysis plans from you all by the end of the week." The section chief reached for the remote, and the last satellite image faded from the wall of monitors.
Half-empty mugs of coffee sat between classified briefing binders as officers gathered their tablets and notebooks.
Aaron closed his laptop, slipped off his wire-rimmed glasses, and rose from his chair.
He glanced down at his phone while gathering his laptop and a classified folder. Beyond the glass, rain blurred the Thames.
"Think Southgate believes any of us actually read the seventy-page appendix?" Murray Mercer asked, stepping beside Aaron.
"I did."
"You're the reason the rest of us look bad."
Aaron picked up his things and headed toward the exit.
"You heading out?"
"Trying to."
"You and that Tuesday lunch. One day you'll miss it."
"Maybe.”
Aaron headed toward his desk, weaving around colleagues crossing between cubicles. He slowed as another officer pushed a trolley stacked with archive boxes across the aisle.
Conversations overlapped across the operations floor as analysts drifted between glass meeting rooms carrying classified folders and coffee.
“Aaron.”
“Novak.”
A tall, ginger-haired man strode down the carpeted aisle, tapping the tops of cubicles as he crossed toward Aaron, a blue lanyard dangling against the stack of folders in his hand.
"Catch the match last night?"
“Caught the highlights. Tons of work to do.”
“You must come out to the pub next time.”
Aaron grinned. "Peter, you lot party harder than anyone I know."
He dropped the briefing folder beside his keyboard and set his laptop on a stack of papers.
“A Scot in my blood through and through,” Peter called out as he continued down the hall.
Aaron pulled his rain jacket from the back of his chair, straightened the framed photograph of his family in Curaçao tucked beside his monitor, and checked the time once more.
"Curaçao?"
Aaron glanced up. A blonde woman stood beside his desk holding a stack of papers and a cup of coffee.
“Yeah, family vacation.”
“God, don’t we all need one of those,” she groaned.
"I mean, a vacation. Not the family part." She laughed. "Sorry."
Aaron reached for his wire-rimmed glasses and slipped them back on before zipping his jacket.
"Olivia." He smiled. "I understand."
Olivia opened her mouth, stopped, then laughed instead. "Right. Of course you do."
Aaron gave her a quick pat on the shoulder and headed toward the elevator.
He scrolled through his messages as he passed screens cycling through international headlines while analysts compared satellite imagery beneath the fluorescent lights.
He flashed his access card against the reader beside the glass security door leading to the sixth-floor corridor.
"Pierre."
Aaron looked up as a colleague caught up beside him.
"Leaving already?"
"Harry, it's twelve-thirty."
Harry fell into step beside him.
"You know, one day I'd like to beat you to the food trucks.”
Aaron smiled and pressed the down button.
"You'd have to skip the meeting before lunch."
Harry laughed.
“About that—”
He glanced down at his watch, then back up at Aaron.
"Are you free after lunch?"
"For what?"
"Martin wants another pair of eyes on the Baltic report."
"I'll come by."
DING.
The elevator doors slid open, already half full. Another dozen officers shifted just enough to make room as Aaron stepped inside.
“What floor?”
"The lobby, please. Thank you."
He checked his watch as the elevator stopped floor after floor, filling with officers who barely looked up from their phones.
DING.
Officers filed out of the elevator, splitting left and right as they headed toward the security gates.
"Arsenal this weekend?"
Aaron sighed dramatically as he flashed his security pass against the reader and waited for the steel barrier to slide open.
"Lester, my man,” Aaron grinned. “I thought we were pretending that match didn't happen."
“Okay, okay,” Lester laughed, waving him off.
"Same time tomorrow?”
"Am I really that predictable?" Aaron smiled as he slipped his access badge into his jacket pocket.
"For an intelligence officer? Yes," Lester replied. "But I won't hold it against you."
"Thank you." Aaron nodded and continued toward the glass doors. Beyond them, gulls circled above the Thames before disappearing into the low gray clouds.
A cool breeze rolled off the Thames the moment the glass doors opened. Aaron descended the entrance steps, pulled up his hood, and stepped beneath the tiered green glass and limestone façade of SIS headquarters.
Beyond the security poles and concrete barriers, office workers spilled across Albert Embankment in every direction, brown paper bags and umbrellas in hand.
Double decker buses hissed to the curb, their doors folding open and sliding closed as tourists climbed on and off speaking French, German, and Spanish.
"Excuse me, is that Big Ben?" A girl in a yellow rain jacket asked as Aaron strolled past a group of tourists taking photos across the river.
“That way.”
“Thanks.”
He turned left along the Thames, passing benches overlooking the river. Across the water, the Palace of Westminster disappeared behind fog and rain as people hurried beneath umbrellas toward Vauxhall Bridge.
A City Cruises boat sounded its horn somewhere along the river. Aaron glanced over just as a cyclist rang their bell, narrowly avoiding a tourist, before continuing toward the line of food trucks serving civil servants from nearby government offices.
"Gyro, white sauce, bottle of water today?"
An older man with a long salt and pepper beard called out, flipping the last of a row of meat on a sizzling stovetop grill.
Aaron grinned and stepped closer.
"You've been keeping track?"
"You've ordered the same lunch every Tuesday for six months."
Aaron smiled as he took the paper bag through the serving window, sliding exact change into the man's hand.
"I should probably branch out."
The older man snorted as he reached for another pita.
"You won't."
Aaron thanked him, bottle of water in one hand, paper bag in the other, and stepped away from the truck.
“I might surprise you one of these weeks, Mr. Omar.”
"I'll believe it when I see it."
The older man shook his head, already reaching for the next order.
"See you next Tuesday."
Aaron raised the bottle of water and stepped back into the flow of pedestrians.
The lunchtime crowds had only grown thicker.
Civil servants clutched umbrellas and hurried back toward nearby government offices as the rain poured.
"Dad, is that Parliament?"
"No, that's the... I actually don't know."
Aaron smiled as he watched the man studying a damp, upside down map of London beneath an umbrella while the little boy pointed excitedly toward a building disappearing into the fog.
"Can you see Big Ben from here?"
"I think so? Wait, let me check."
Aaron slowed near the river wall, taking another bite of his lunch as a City Cruises boat pushed through the gray water below.
Across the Thames, the clock tower at the Palace of Westminster rang out across the river.
He finished the last bite of his gyro, crumpled the wrapper into a nearby trash can, and kept walking.
Buzz.
Harry: Still good for after lunch?
Aaron typed a quick reply as he walked.
Aaron: On my way. Give me ten.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket as a gust of wind swept along the embankment. Aaron pulled his hood a little tighter and crossed back toward the familiar green glass exterior rising above Albert Embankment.
A pair of tourists stopped just outside the security perimeter, angling their phones toward the green glass façade.
"Is this really MI6?" one of them asked.
Aaron smiled to himself as he passed.
He climbed the steps toward the entrance, crossed beneath the green glass canopy, and stepped inside.
He lowered his hood, reached into his jacket for his access card, and joined the steady stream of officers returning from lunch, umbrellas dripping onto the marble floor as the security barriers admitted them one by one.
Aaron held his card against the reader until a green light flashed and the barrier slid open.
A few officers crossed toward the elevators with coffees in hand while another hurried through the revolving doors, rain still dripping from his coat. Aaron tucked his phone into his pocket and stepped into the first elevator that opened.
“What floor?”
“Six.”
The doors slid shut and the elevator climbed in silence as Aaron watched the numbers tick up in red.
DING.
When the doors opened, Aaron stepped into the sixth-floor elevator lobby. He held his access card against the scanner beside the glass security door and stepped inside when the light turned green and the lock clicked.
To the left of the main aisle, the briefing room door still stood open. Southgate's handwriting was scrawled across the whiteboard near the front of the room.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and continued down the main aisle. The secure conference rooms lining the back wall remained closed, their red OCCUPIED lights glowing above each door.
The television screens hanging above the analyst desks cycled through international headlines.
He passed analyst desks where half-finished coffees sat beside glowing monitors.
RING.
Michael Oliver remained at his workstation, back to the aisle, shoulders slightly hunched toward the glow of his monitor.
A stack of classified folders lay open on Shanice's desk beneath a pair of reading glasses, her monitor still unlocked.
A Teams message chimed from Marty's workstation in the records section. Aaron gave him a quick nod as he passed.
RING.
He passed Southgate's closed office door and rounded the cluster of desks leading toward his workstation.
"Harry?"
He moved to his desk, unzipped his jacket, and draped it over the back of his chair.
He reached for the Baltic report beside his keyboard.
"You still wanted another pair of eyes?"
RING.
A nearby printer whirred steadily, feeding page after page into an already overflowing tray.
"You ducking out on me already?"
Harry didn't answer.
"Mate..."
Aaron picked up the Baltic report and started toward Harry’s desk.
His chair was turned away from the aisle.
One hand hung limply over the arm of the chair.
His H is for Harry coffee mug lay on its side beneath the desk.
Coffee had spread across the carpet beneath the overturned mug. A dark red stain pooled through the middle of it.
Aaron dropped the report.
"Harry?"
He rounded the desk in two quick strides and caught the back of the chair. Harry's head lolled with it.
Aaron stumbled back a step.
His eyes snapped toward the aisle.
"Marty."
He crossed the aisle so quickly he tripped on the corner of a desk. Marty's chair faced the monitors exactly as it had a minute earlier. When Aaron turned it, Marty folded sideways before the chair settled again.
The printer spat out another page.
"Southgate."
He raced to Southgate’s office, passing desks where monitors still glowed beneath abandoned mugs and open folders.
Station Chief Southgate lay sprawled across the floor, classified files scattered around him. Blood had spread beneath his suit jacket, one arm twisted beneath his body.
Aaron backed out and let the door drift shut.
He glanced toward the open HR office and ran over.
Judy from HR lay slumped across her desk, blood soaking through the papers beneath her and dripping onto the carpet.
"Shit," Aaron muttered, lifting Judy's head before gently lowering it again.
Aaron swallowed hard.
He reached his desk in three strides, yanked open the bottom drawer, and pulled out a black duffel bag. He dropped the duffel onto the desk and unbuttoned his shirt.
He stripped off the dress shirt in one motion and reached for the folded t-shirt inside the duffel. His tie landed in the chair behind him.
He pulled a charcoal t-shirt over his head. It stretched across his broad caramel shoulders before settling over the tattoo sleeve winding from his left shoulder to his forearm.
He stepped out of his trousers and into a pair of gray sweats, traded polished Oxfords for worn running shoes, tugged on a black baseball cap, and swapped his wire-frame glasses for a pair of dark sunglasses.
He grabbed a burner phone from a drawer to his right and slid it into his pocket, tossing his current phone into the duffel.
He slid his chair back and dragged the safe from beneath the desk. He spun the dial and yanked the door open.
Inside waited a row of passports, each bearing a different name, photograph, and nationality, tucked alongside stacks of foreign currency, replacement credentials, and burner phones still sealed in plastic.
Aaron swept everything into the duffel before stopping, his eyes landing on the monitor.
"Encrypted drive."
He entered his password, and the monitor sprang to life.
He inserted a key-shaped flash drive, tapped a few keys, waited for the confirmation, then pulled it free.
When he turned back toward the desks, the office looked different.
"Olivia?"
Every monitor glowed.
“Peter?”
Every coffee sat half-finished.
“Murray?”
He turned toward the exit.
Rain soaked through his jacket before he realized where his feet had carried him.
He stopped beside the Thames, unzipped the duffel just enough to reach inside and pulled out his own phone.
Harry's last message still glowed across the screen.
Harry: Still good for after lunch?
Aaron stared at it for a second.
He held the power button until the display went black. He removed the SIM card, dropped it into a storm drain, and tossed the phone into the gray water of the Thames before zipping the duffel shut.
A payphone stood outside a shuttered corner shop.
He dug through his pockets until his fingers closed around a handful of coins, shoving them one by one into the slot.
A few slipped from his fingers and clinked against the pavement.
He shoved the final coin into the slot.
RING.
RING.
RING.
"...Hello?”
Aaron opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Rain hissed against the receiver for a few seconds as his shallow breaths filled the silence.
