Chapter 21: Tactical Chic
Agatha opened her eyes at exactly one in the morning. Drowsiness still clung to her, but her instincts were already firing. Beside her, the bed was empty. The sound of running water came from the bathroom. Xavier was already up.
Agatha sat up, stretching her stiff muscles. At the foot of the bed sat a large black box tied with a tacky red ribbon and a note that read: "The Lady Boss’s Combat Kit, From Frans with Love."
Agatha opened the box. Frans really moved fast. Inside was a complete tactical set: Black cargo pants, low-heeled combat boots, and a top that made Agatha’s eyebrows shoot up.
Ten minutes later, Agatha stepped out of the walk-in closet.
Xavier had just finished buttoning his black shirt in front of the mirror. He turned, intending to compliment his wife. However, the words died in his throat the moment he saw what she was wearing.
Agatha wore the fitted cargo pants and the tactical boots, but it was the top that stole the focus. A tight, long-sleeved black crop top. The cut was dangerously short, exposing her flat stomach and slender waist with unapologetic clarity.
"What the hell is that?" Xavier asked flatly, his eyes glued to Agatha’s exposed skin.
Agatha pulled on her leather gloves casually. "A gift from Frans. Didn't you order him to get it, Xav?"
"I ordered him to get tactical gear, not a lack of fabric," Xavier protested. He walked closer, looking thoroughly displeased. "Change it. Wear my shirt instead."
"No. This is more comfortable," Agatha refused. She patted her stomach lightly. "The fabric is elastic, breathable, and it won't hinder my movement if I have to beat someone up. Frans has good taste."
"I’m going to kill that kid later," Xavier grumbled, his jaw tightening. He grabbed the leather jacket from the box and forced it onto Agatha’s body. "Zip the jacket up. All the way to the top. I don't want that old bastard and his leering eyes seeing a single inch of your skin."
Agatha rolled her eyes, leaving the zipper halfway down. "Don't be possessive, Old Man. We’re going to a brawl, not a polite family gathering."
Xavier scoffed, then pulled a Glock 19 from the drawer. "Use this."
"No need," Agatha rejected. She reached behind the waistband of her pants. "I have this."
Agatha pulled an old dagger from a leather sheath hidden at the small of her back.
It was no ordinary knife. The handle was made of silver, blackened by age, with intricate carvings of thorny rose vines twisting around it. At the base of the gleaming sharp blade sat a blooming rose emblem, identical to the birthmark on Agatha's thigh.
Xavier stared at the dagger, his brow furrowed. "An antique? Are you sure you want to fight assault rifles with a kitchen knife?"
"This was the only thing found wrapped with my body at the orphanage," Agatha answered, twirling the dagger through her fingers with lethal fluidity. "And this knife has slit more throats than you can count. It never dulls, never gleams in the light, and it is very silent."
Agatha sheathed the dagger back in place.
"Relax. If I need a gun, I'll take one from your enemies later."
Xavier smirked, a little impressed by his wife's confidence. "So arrogant, but I like it."
"Realistic," Agatha countered.
They went down to the apartment lobby. In front of the glass revolving doors, Frans was leaning against the hood of the black Maybach, chewing gum. His demeanor was completely relaxed, far from the image of a stiff adjutant.
The moment he saw Agatha come out with the crop top visible beneath her jacket, Frans let out a long whistle.
"Whoa! Perfect!" Frans exclaimed, giving a thumbs up. "How’s the fit, Tha? I’ll just call you Agatha, yeah? Calling you Madam feels weird when it’s just the three of us. Besides, we’re not that far apart in age."
Agatha chuckled. "Call me whatever you're comfortable with, Frans. Besides, I like your taste in fashion. It’s easy to move in."
"See, what did I say!" Frans turned to Xavier with a proud face. "Look at that, Xav. Even your wife understands art. This model allows for maximum air circulation, so she won't overheat."
Xavier stared at Frans with a deadly, flat gaze. "Circulation, my ass. Are you trying to give me a heart attack on purpose?"
Frans laughed without fear. "Oh, relax a little, Xav. It's called Tactical Chic. It's trending."
Frans opened the rear passenger door.
"Please enter, Mr. and Mrs. Valois. Watch your heads."
Xavier kicked Frans lightly as he passed. "Too much talking. Just drive."
"Mercy, Boss Galak," Frans grinned as he ran to the driver's seat.
The journey to Le Havre took two hours. Inside the car, Xavier was busy monitoring the tablet displaying his security team's positions, occasionally glancing at Agatha's stomach to make sure the jacket hadn't fallen open too wide.
"Boss," Frans called out, breaking the silence. "Team Alpha is in position. Two squads guarding the containers, one sniper squad on the north crane. But the surveillance team says Petrov brought twice as many troops as agreed."
"Let them," Xavier answered calmly without looking away from the screen. "As long as they didn't bring a tank, our team can handle it."
"Copy that. Oh, one more thing," Frans glanced in the rearview mirror. "If a shootout happens later, please remind the enemies not to shoot the left door. It was just repainted last week. The auto shop gets fussy with insurance claims."
"Focus on driving, Frans. I have enough money to buy ten new cars, it’s not complicated," Xavier replied lazily.
"Yeah, yeah, rich people problems," Frans muttered quietly. "You just swipe the card, Xav. I'm the one tired of handling the administration."
Agatha smirked, stroking the handle of her dagger. "Relax, Frans. If anyone dares to scratch your car, I’ll ensure their heads are severed before they can fire a second bullet."
Frans’ eyes lit up in the mirror. "I like it! Even though it's not my car."
At three in the morning, their car entered the dark cargo area of Le Havre port.
The joking atmosphere vanished instantly. Frans' face turned serious. He touched the earpiece in his ear.
"Alpha One, Eagle has landed. Tighten the perimeter," Frans ordered over the radio. "Boss, the entrance area is clear. But General Petrov and his friends look impatient."
"Good," Xavier replied coldly. "Park in the middle."
The sea wind blew hard. In the open area surrounded by container walls, the scene was intimidating.
Dozens of Xavier's men in black tactical suits, fully armed, stood forming a barricade in front of three giant containers. They stood rigid as statues, guarding trillions of rupiah worth of merchandise.
Opposite them, three groups of buyers waited with their respective bodyguards.
Agatha stepped out of the car, standing one step behind Xavier's left side. Frans remained near the car door, his hand ready inside his jacket.
Xavier stepped forward past the line of his men, spreading his arms. "Good evening, Gentlemen."
Three men stepped forward to welcome him.
Mr. Laurent, a renowned banker who looked nervous, Senator Dubois, a fat politician smoking a cigar, and General Petrov from the military with a savage face.
"You're an hour late, Valois," Petrov grumbled roughly. "Time is money."
Xavier offered a thin smile, one full of condescension.
"Waiting a little shouldn't be a big problem for you, General. Consider my lateness compensation for my security team having to count the extra rats you brought."
Petrov's face turned crimson, but he stayed silent.
Mr. Laurent, the banker, stepped forward adjusting his thick glasses. He looked at the painting container with hesitation.
"Are... are you sure about the authenticity, Valois? This Van Gogh... rumor has it, it was destroyed during the world war."
Xavier chuckled, a laugh full of mockery.
"If you doubt it, feel free to buy a replica poster at the museum gift shop, Laurent. It's cheaper and comes with a certificate. Here, I sell rescued history, not doubt. If you can't afford it, step back."
Mr. Laurent swallowed hard, his ego pricked. "I... I’ll buy it. Of course, I’ll buy it."
Meanwhile, Senator Dubois stared at the data server container with greedy, glittering eyes. He inhaled his cigar deeply.
"Beautiful. This server will ensure democracy in our country stays on the right path during the election."
Xavier scoffed, unable to hold back his sharp tongue.
"By right path, do you mean the path to your private Swiss account, Senator? Don't use beautiful words like democracy in front of me. We both know you buy votes, not justice. So stop the charade, it's nauseating."
Dubois choked on his cigar smoke, staring at Xavier with a look of offense mixed with hatred.
"Your mouth is very sharp for a young businessman, Valois."
"A sharp tongue is needed to cut through the bullshit of old men like you," Xavier replied casually.
He snapped his fingers at his squad commander. "Open everything. Let them see what they can never obtain legally."
The three container doors swung open simultaneously. The LED lights flared to life.
However, General Petrov no longer cared about the merchandise. His cunning eyes stared at Xavier with hatred, then shifted to Agatha with a leering gaze. The crop top Agatha wore was slightly visible as the wind blew her jacket open.
That night, amidst the cold of the port, the drums of war had just been beaten.