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Vanya Ambrozak, doctor of chemistry, and Lancelot Morgan, secret agent extraordinaire, couldn’t be more different. Both men are in service to The Agency, however. They must both work together to fight terrorism throughout the world. Usually, the two men serve separately, only passing one another at occasional staff meetings. An assignment that required the use of both men’s talent’s would have to be unusual to say the least. In fact, such an assignment would be unusual and dangerous.
Lance is used to danger. Time and again he’s used his body to aid his government. Why does it bother him to see the little chemist put his safety on the line? Why should he care if the younger man sleeps with a terrorist for the good of The Agency?
Vanya understands about volunteering. When your government tells you that you have a choice, you smile, nod, and do as you’re told. But now he’s volunteered for something he’s never done before. Thankfully, Agent Lancelot Morgan will be there to help.
Excerpt:
Lancelot Morgan strode angrily through the University’s vast network of corridors, finally stopping someone who looked to be a young college student. “I’m looking for Dr. Ambrozak,” he growled at the pimple-faced girl.
“Oh,” she squeaked. “His office is on the third floor.” Lance turned to leave when he heard her amend, “He’s not there, though. He’s in his lab at the end of the hall.”
With an inarticulate snarl, he turned on his heel and marched toward the end of the hall cursing all people and their convoluted thought processes.
He stopped when he found a doorway with a plaque bearing the embossed name: Vanya Yakovetch Ambrozak, Ph.D. Glancing through the wired glass window, he saw a hunched figure, a boy, Lance guessed, staring intently into a microscope.
Little of the person was visible save for a mop of pale, rusty, wheat colored hair, and stooped, white-covered shoulders. He seemed to be scribbling blindly on a nearby pad.
Lancelot rapped quickly and pushed the door open, not waiting for an invitation. “Is Dr. Ambrozak around?” he demanded.
“Da?” the boy answered, tearing himself away from his microscope with obvious reluctance.
“I’m looking for Dr. Vanya Ambrozak,” Lancelot announced, some of the hard edge leaving his voice.
“Da, I am Dr. Vanya Ambrozak.” The other man’s brow furrowed as he looked fixedly back at Lance.
Lancelot’s eyes widened as they swept over the young man he’d taken for a visiting high school student or possibly a very young college freshman. The guy didn’t seem old enough to have a Ph.D., he reasoned.
Well, it didn’t matter, he decided, in fact it just made some things more clear. “I have a complaint,” he gritted, pulling out a small plastic container and slamming it loudly on the counter.
“What is…” the diminutive doctor reached a fine-boned hand out and snatched the plastic bottle. Uncapping the lid, he began to shake his head sadly.
“That was alleged to be a sleeping agent,” Lancelot snapped in a clipped voice. “I’m the one who ended up sleeping after I was injected by the man that didn’t work on.”
“Gospodi pomiluy!” the boy doctor groaned, sliding off his stool. “Is not supposed to be in plastic! Who? Where gave you this?”
“What?” It took Lance a moment to figure out what the other man was saying. English was obviously not his first language. “Your office sent it over. How old are you?”
The younger man’s vivid eyes went wide as he stared at Lance. “Old? My years?” his face turned pink as he dipped his head, ostensibly to regard the bottle Lance had given him. “Am twenty-five age,” the professor mumbled. In a stronger voice he proclaimed, “I am my office and this is not container I sent.”
“Oh--well--Your container didn’t look right,” Lancelot confessed sheepishly. “And anyway, what difference does that make?” he demanded, his tone more aggressive.
“As you saw, is very big difference it makes. The chemicals of solution are rendered impotent when combined with polymers of plastic bottle,” the diminutive scientist explained.
“Why didn’t someone tell me that, hmmm?” Lancelot challenged peevishly.
“Someone was sure you would call and ask question prior to pouring sleeping solution from container to bottle…”
His first instinct was to sputter and spurt and carry on loudly, but one glance at the mischievous twinkle in those gold-flecked, blue-grey eyes and Lancelot found himself chuckling.
“Guess that’s why you’re the one with all the Ph.D.’s huh?” he laughed, intrigued by the little professor. “Any chance you can whip me up another batch?” he asked, embarrassed, though hopeful.
“Am chemist, not cook,” Vanya shot back, but he still had that twinkle in his eyes that told Lancelot that he was joking and not offended. “When would you need this?”
“When can you have it for me?” Lancelot countered, enjoying the repartee. “Oh!” he exclaimed, startled. It had just occurred to him that he’d never actually told the professor who he was. “Lancelot Morgan, at your service,” he announced, thrusting out his hand to shake. “Rude of me not to introduce myself.”
Red-faced, the younger man nervously took Lancelot’s much larger hand in his own, giving it a cursory pump. “I know you, Mr. Morgan,” his face flushed even redder, if possible. “I mean to say that I have seen you at meetings. Please call me Vanya.”
Lancelot studied Vanya’s flaming face intently, a thrill of attraction zipping through him at the touch of that small, elegant hand. “I don’t remember seeing you at any meetings,” he confessed, a bit surprised and embarrassed. He was certain he’d know if he’d ever seen this interesting young man before.
“You are big spy, I am small—uh, not as big—chemist,” Vanya answered, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. “I will call you on telephone so you can know when solution is finished.”
Gracing Lancelot with a firm nod, the diminutive professor turned away and slid back onto his high stool, focusing all his attention back into his microscope, as it had been when Lance had first arrived. Lancelot Morgan, secret agent extraordinaire, was dismissed.
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