CROSSFIRE - Atlantis DSV - New Cape Quest

Ainsley let the statement hang for a moment as he raised his glass to his lips again,
but paused to lock eyes with Lewis once more. “Not that you would make such base
implication, of course.”
“Indeed,” said Lewis dryly, his voice only a few notes above a growl.
No one dared say a thing to break the tension between the two Admirals that hung
rank in the air for several long seconds. Not even the ambassador tried to continue with his
previous line of questioning, and his staff shifted uncomfortably.
Ainsley smiled apologetically and then grimaced at his glass after taking another
mouthful. “Forgive me, gentlemen,” he offered lightly. “I suspect this Champagne is going to
our heads all too-quickly. I think I‟ll get some air.”
Admiral Ainsley excused himself to the ambassador and the other officers, leaving
Lewis only with a warning gaze across the crowd of gathered officers.
Stepping away from the group quickly, he moved quickly to the balcony outside.
Casting his eyes around the room on his way, they briefly came to rest on a pair of women –
notably not in uniform – who were swept up in a lively conversation that looked like it was far
more entertaining than the drivel he had just endured. He smiled as he traced the line of one
of their backs, wrapped in blue satin from ankles to shoulders, with brown hair that was done
up in curls in a high bun at the back of her skull. Samantha Ainsley was so caught up in her
conversation with Lisa Sinclair that she wasn‟t even aware of her husband‟s passing. With
his mood being what it was, he decided against interrupting her and quietly stepped outside
and stared out at the courtyard below.
There was one set of eyes, though that did catch Ainsley‟s retreat to the balcony, and
having witnessed most of the exchange between he and Lewis, was only too curious and
eager to poke at the wounds.
“Admiral, you look like you could use something a little harder than champagne...
Perhaps a duelling pistol,” said the familiar, velvet-glazed German accent of Admiral Anise
von Schrader.
Ainsley turned to face the commander of the North Sea Intelligence Service and
smiled as he saw her, despite it being forced. Three years of war had not been kind to
Schrader and she looked much older than when Ainsley had last seen her. She was fifty-two
years old, and Ainsley remembered vividly how barely two years previously she had still
been full of youth and charm. Her alabaster skin and delicate cheeks had become thinner,
and increasingly more grey was creeping in to her silken, black temples. Her eyes had lost
the mischievous glint that had defined them from the day Ainsley had met her in the
academy, and her smile – while genuine – somehow came across as sad and mournful.
“Admiral von Schrader,” greeted Ainsley with a sigh.
“Oh, Mark,” she said, shaking her head in defeat. “I‟m never going to get you to drop
rank, am I?”
“...Anise,” he warned with a slight growl, frowning in disapproval. “I‟m in no mood.”
“Sorry,” she said plainly, turning so she could lean against the balcony next to him.
Her face softened as she turned her eyes to his. Ainsley saw vulnerability there, and for
once, didn‟t retreat. “Where did we fall apart, Mark?” she asked. “You know there was a time
you would have come to me with anything. I know we‟re over, and we have been for a very
long time – I get that.”
She stopped for a minute and looked across the floor of the ballroom at Samantha –
Ainsley‟s wife. “...That shouldn‟t change the fact we‟re still friends.”
Ainsley sighed and looked down at his glass, but he didn‟t drink it. “I‟m sorry, Anise,”
he said whilst shaking his head. “It‟s not you, it‟s what you do.”
“What I do?” she repeated with surprise. “Now what‟s that supposed to mean?”
“The NSIS,” he clarified. “I feel like I‟ve been left behind. I‟ve not been back here in a
very long time, and everything has changed.”
“Except you,” she nodded with a quiet smile. “Not everything has changed, Mark. A
few assholes like Lewis, maybe, but the best things always stay the same.”
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