Thanks, as always, for reading and reviewing. While I'm not busy during my month-long reprieve from school, I'll post my last two written chapters that I have with me. There is a chapter 10, part b, but that is on my computer and not here at my parents house. Hopefully I have some time to work on some new stuff before I start back at school.
[9]
He sat in a chair facing Toni Cummings apartment and waited. The same as he had been waiting for the past week. The thought of a million dollars fresh in his bank account was the one thing that was keeping him going on this job.
Alexei Polaski was bored. He was so frackin bored with this assignment that his trigger finger actually started itching. He could feel the sensation on his finger – that tingling, what he thought was his instinct telling him it was time.
When he had been approached with this assignment, he had eagerly taken it. He had been off the radar for many years, and was getting bored with the straight life. Not to mention, his money supply – which he had thought would never run out – was dwindling.
When the woman and man had come to him for this job specifically, he had been on guard. Nobody had been able to contact him in years – he had hidden himself so well in Ustka, Poland, along the coast of the Baltic Sea.
La Madame, as the woman identified herself, had been accompanied by another man, who called himself Ivan Karakoff.
He knew who Karakoff was. Anybody who was of a certain age, and was still in the game, knew who he was. Karakoff was a mean old bastard – former KGB and skilled in torture. Who could say no to Karakoff? Or la Madame for that matter…not to mention, the million dollars definitely helped.
So, here he sat, watching an empty apartment, and waiting for the chance to kill Toni Cummings. He knew nothing more about her than a name. That was all he needed to know – the name of the mark and the name of the bank where his money would be transferred to.
He ran his right hand through is his long, shaggy, blonde hair and down to the stubble covering his chin. His eyelids were beginning to close on their own accord – shading his eyes that were depthless and black.
Suddenly a sharp movement caught his eye in the outside twilight. It was a figure, entering Cumming’s building – followed quickly by another figure.
Tonight might just get a little more interesting, he thought as he sat up straight in his chair and watched the two lithe figures break into the apartment expertly.
Not too much later he saw Cummings enter the building with a man, the same one he had seen her with earlier that day, as he had been tailing her.
He could see now that the two figures he had seen before were simply waiting for her. It was an ambush – and Polaski decided that he did not like the affect these strangers would have on his work.
He pulled out his binoculars to he could look a bit closer at the people in her apartment, and was only slightly shocked to see that it was Irina Derevko’s daughter, and a partner who looked slightly familiar – but he couldn’t quite place.
After five minutes Polaski determined that they were sent to get to Cummings before he did. At the same moment he remembered where he had seen the blond man before.
It was right before the young assassin had shot him in the leg quite a few years ago, not blinking once, staring at him with cold blue eyes.
Suddenly Polaski saw red. He still had a limp from the bullet wound that ached in the cold weather. He saw a chance to rid the world not only of his target – for whom he was getting paid – but of another Derevko, and an arrogant young assassin.
He was going to do his frackin good deed of the day. And rid the world of those two along with Cummings. And with that rash decision he sealed his fate.
- - -
The glass shattered as bullets tore through the windows – aimed at all four of them. Since they were all familiar with these types of situations, they quickly ducked to the ground to avoid being in the direct line of a bullet if possible.
Simon yelled over to Toni, “Now do you believe us about an assassin?”
She just cocked an eyebrow at him as if to say,
of course you frackin moron, there is a person shooting the hell out of my place.
Sydney, who was tired of this little exchange while they were hiding from the shattered glass, finally broke through her emotionless wall and gave a guttural yell, “Will both of you stop acting like petulant children and let’s figure out a way to save our frackin lives. I personally don’t want to get shot because the two of you couldn’t stop bickering.”
There was so much emotion behind her statement, as if she had been holding all her emotions in check for the past few months – which in fact, she had. That quieted Simon right down, and reset his focus. Toni took longer, still glaring at the three intruders in her life, silently blaming them – though knowing it was unfair while she did it.
There was a pause in the shooting, as the assassin reloaded his weapon. It was long enough for them to slip out to the fire escape on the other side of the apartment – away from his view.
All Polaski knew is that there was no more movement inside the apartment – but there were also no bodies. He knew that he had screwed up this job. And he also knew that his failure signed his death certificate.
He was old enough to be resigned at the thought. There was really only one thing for him to do – call Karakoff and tell him the bad news. They would find him again, anyway, if he tried to run. And he suddenly felt too old to run.
The fact that he had lost control showed a lack of retained skill on his part – something that any assassin should never experience. He had been lazy, and now he must pay the price. In fact he deserved to die for this.
He picked up his cell phone and dialed the number he had been given. When the message had been sent through the proper channels, he decided to examine the wreckage while he waited for the executioner.
- - -
Meanwhile, the trio became a foursome, and they made their way to the darkened alley on the other side of Toni’s building. They were all in adrenaline mode – thinking on their feet.
Sydney looked over at Sark and nodded, silently communicating. He and Simon would find suitable transportation, and she would take care of Cummings.
She looked over at the other woman, who was not shaken at all by the situation, and was impressed, but kept that observation to herself. “Toni, you need to contact your client and let him know there has been a slight change of plans. We will be leaving the country tonight.”
Toni shook her head, “I have a contract. I will not break my contract; I always finish what I start.”
“This is one case where you will not be able to. Once Fleurie realizes that the assassin failed, she will just hire somebody else – or do the job herself, friendship is damned in her line of work.”
Toni struggled with this for a few moments, but knew in her mind that the other woman was correct. She pulled her phone out of the purse that had never left her body through the whole exchange and made a quiet call.
When that was done, she faced Sydney, “Are you satisfied?”
Sydney shook her head, “Not quite yet. We need to know where you keep the specs for Fleurie’s security system.”
Toni’s face hardened, “Not without a price.”
Sydney wanted to laugh at the thought of negotiation in a situation such as this one, “We just saved your life. That is price enough.”
The women were interrupted by the noise of a car starting – with Sark at the wheel. It was an old jeep, but it would suffice. They climbed in the back seat and Simon turned around expectantly.
Toni was caught in this web of deception and espionage – well and truly caught. There was nothing to do but give in.
“New Orleans. We must go to Louisiana.”
- - -
The French Quarter – New Orleans, Louisiana
Toni Cummings waited in the lobby of Delacroix, Fontaine, and Delacroix – Attorneys at Law. The receptionist knew her by name only, and was staring at her with unabashed curiosity.
Instead of keeping her client information in a safe-deposit box – like most believed she did, as she rented one out as a cover – she kept them in an old file with her lawyer’s offices. They were deep in storage with many other legal files, and had proven to be a perfect hiding spot.
“Monsieur Delacroix will see you now, Ms. Cummings,” the receptionist interrupted her thoughts with the thick drawl that New Orleans natives were known for.
“Thank you very much, Cecilie,” she responded warmly, making her way into the small office Antoine Delacroix used for his most respected clients.
- - -
An hour later, she met Simon, Sark, and Sydney at the hotel with the specs to La Madame’s house in the Swiss Alps. They spent hours pouring over the security system, and compiling a list of supplies that they would need.
Sydney contacted Irina to give her an update, and she gave them the name of who to call in the area for what they needed. Sark made that call and they were on their way.
- - -
Back in Rabat
Alexei Polaski faced his executioners calmly – showing no fear.
The woman, who Karakoff called Stacia, twisted some rope around her hands – debating whether or not to tie him down and torture him, or just shoot him cleanly.
Since this was their second failed attempt, she decided to be a little lenient. She wanted information before he was killed for his failure.
Karakoff pushed him down on the chair while Stacia tied the ropes.
Still his eyes showed no fear as he waited for the coming torture. They would have to kill him – because he knew nothing of importance. And what he did know, he would never tell. The money he had been promised wasn’t coming to him anymore – and they were just going to kill him anyway.
He didn’t give a damn about their cause.
Hours later, after many attempts to extract information, Karakoff realized the same thing. Polaski died messily – a shot through the head, leaving pools of blood from the bullet hole and other forms of torture.
Stacia walked out of the room with Karakoff behind her.
They had some tracking to do.
[10a]
Rabat, Morocco
Shattered glass was the main décor in Toni Cummings’ apartment. Anastacia Fleurie’s three-inch, silver stiletto heels appeared impractical, but nevertheless her long legs maneuvered over the debris gracefully. Her sharp eyes scanned for clues hidden under the sharp edges and glinting prisms of light. However, the apartment was…clean. Any files, any paperwork, any clues were either destroyed or no longer in the building.
She looked over at her partner, and realized that she could not read his body language. It was an unsettling thought, as she had known Ivan Karakoff for most of their lives. He was a lover and her hated enemy. He was her closest friend. He was currently an enigma.
His eyes were shuttered, his face carefully blank. From experience, she knew this meant trouble. She struggled with the loss of control over the entire situation and vowed to keep her cards close for the time being. Her endgame, her trump card, could not become compromised simply because of an old friend and a new enemy. Her deal lover, Ivan, was to remain in the dark from now on.
“At least we took care of Polaski,” Ivan finally spoke, his voice gravelly with disuse.
She stopped in the middle of the main room and looked at him. Both of their gazes betrayed nothing. That is when she knew for sure. He was playing her.
“Yes,” she calmly replied.
- - -
The once handsome man sat shivering with cold, naked and tied to a metal chair. His once, almost jarring, good looks had shriveled with age, injury, and fear. The only vestige of his former self that remained was the depthless black eyes of a killer.
“There were three agents with the Cummings woman.”
“And who were they, my dear Alexei?”
“Dressed in black…they took her away after I shot at them.” His words were vague as he coughed up blood. It was his last defiance. He knew he was dead. What was the point in dying a snitch?
“Who were they?” Her lips drew a thin line across the lower portion of her face.
“I don’t know.” Spitfire eyes to the last…
“Who were they?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“I think you do.” This time, she changed tactics and curved her lips into a feline grin – evil, malicious, and utterly feline.
“The bitch,” he spit out bitterly. It was as if the words had a mind of their own. She knew anyway, she had to have known.
“What bitch?” There were, of course, so many in the world.
“The…bitch’s…daugh…” his words were interrupted by another hacking cough along with more blood spurting from his wounds and out his mouth.
He was fading and she knew it.
“Hold on you mother fucker for just one more moment.”
“Daughter…” He coughed out through the blood, finishing the sentence.
Irina Derevko’s daughter. Anastacia had been right. Sydney Bristow had come out of hiding and teamed up with somebody, most likely her mother and that stupid British lapdog of hers. All plans were falling into place. It was beautiful to know that she could still manipulate the world.
When it was clear that Polaski was useless, on the verge of death, she shot him through the left temple and left him to die in a pool of sticky blood – a deep red ocean.
- - -
After another moment of contemplative silence, they walked out the door. Switzerland, they were going to Switzerland.
- - -
Switzerland
The Alp Mountains
A voice crackled over the intercom that was strategically placed inside the small diamond earrings, “I’m looking over the blueprints right now, Sydney. It looks like you need to go about two miles northeast on the property and there should be a security box hidden in the foliage.”
“Copy that, Cummings,” Sydney replied into the matching necklace, rolling her eyes at the distance as she starting jogging northeast.
Sark was following behind her, having heard the exchange. They ran in silence up towards the wooded area of the property. Because of the elevation, their pace was slow and words spoken meant wasted energy.
Twenty minutes later, they reached their destination. Sark checked his GPS monitor. Toni had uploaded the exact location onto the device. He motioned to Sydney to follow him into the woods. They waded through the dense green leaves and the thin layer of snow until they found the box they were looking for.
“We’ve found the box. What is the code?”
“First, you need to open the box. For that, you need the key that I gave you in New Orleans.”
“I’ve got the key.”
“Good. Now, there is an infrared pattern around the keyhole. To disengage that, you need to remove a sensor from the ground. Sark, go five feet east of the box and see if you can detect the sensor.”
Sark shifted to the right, inching his way carefully as to not disturb any other sensor in the area. His monitor picked up on the frequency of the one he was to disengage. He brushed the top layer of soil and found the small metal object.
“I’ve found the sensor.”
“Copy that, now, you need to carefully remove it from the ground, open it using the equipment I gave you, and punch in this code to the keypad: 0837.”
“Done.”
The sensor made no noise, but a small red light became black, as if it had burned out.
“Good. Now, Sydney, open up the security box.”
Sydney used the infrared spray to make sure that the code had worked. There were no security laser beams surrounding the keyhole. She made a face that appeared half-grimace, half-smile and replied, “Okay, I’m all clear, opening case now.”
As she opened the box, she felt an overwhelming sense of dread. It had been a small knot in her stomach earlier that day; however, it was now growing exponentially. Sark noticed her hesitation. He coughed quietly, startling her into movement.
She glared at him from underneath the large sunglasses she wore, protecting her eyes from the glare of snow and her face from the icy cold wind. He knew exactly what she was doing and coughed again.
Her hand made a fist around the key once, twice, three times. It burned her. She knew that their mission must go on. The end result was terrifying, but she could not let that stop her.
The security box was opened seconds later. Inside, they found a simple keypad and multiple layers of colored wires. “It’s open. What’s the code?”
“29566839-0.”
As she punched the numbers on the keypad, her hands were steady, but her heart was shaking. When she was finished, there was an audible clinking noise as the system shifted out of gear. “It looks good from my end. Simon, I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes at the side entrance to her vault.”
“I’ll be there.”
- - -
The vault had a hidden entrance, a special feature of Cummings Security Systems, Inc. It was an item that La Madame had paid dearly for. Toni had developed a special sensory device that would detect the entrance through the thick, smooth outside wall.
By the time Sydney reached the house, Simon had already located the vault entrance, and was awaiting the code. Sark followed moments after Sydney, and the three of them sprinted through the door into the hollow cave while Toni waited at the car, occasionally directing them on which direction to go in the maze that led to the goods until finally, they arrived at their destination.
Sydney stood in the middle of the massive room. Her muscles were frozen. All thought vanished from her mind. She found what she was looking for. Simon and Sark were standing next to her, their eyes remained fixed on the vault and surrounding areas, making sure nothing went wrong.
The three spies were looking at, among other personal items, a veritable wealth of information regarding The Covenant and their nefarious activities. There were tapes, papers, photographs, electronic equipment. It was all to be transferred to the getaway vehicle, parked two miles away in the forest.
They called for Toni to drive towards the entrance to the vault. All documents were transferred into duffle bags. The three spies were ready to head to the entrance. They were all wary. The mission had gone off without a hitch. It had been too easy, everything falling into place.
Something was terribly wrong, they could feel it.
- - -
Sao Paulo
The safe house
Sydney looked over the information again. Repeatedly. Her disbelief was due to shock. Her mind did not want to face the death of her father yet again, so she rebelled against the information.
It was in one of the duffel bags that she found what she was searching for. There was a detailed file which contained one particular damning document. The rest was filled with photographs, dates, names, phone logs, and weapon specs. What it was, was her father's murderer on a silver platter.
Shock, sorrow, and rage the color of deep red filled Sydney’s body.
McKenas Cole had done the unimaginable. He had killed Jack Bristow. It seemed unlikely. Jack didn't make mistakes, and Cole was unpredictable. He had been captured relatively easily by three agents, but managed to kill one of the most elusive men in the world.
Again, something didn't quite fit. But thoughts of revenge quashed any doubts in her mind very quickly.
She scanned the other documents gathered regarding one McKenas Cole, born Walter Matthew Cole, IV. With amusement, she determined that one bit of information she would torture out of him was the origins of his assumed name, McKenas. As for her torture device, the history of one Walter Matthew Cole, IV, provided her with leverage that rivaled the pain of the needles of fire.
She smiled slyly as she picked up a small black kit and gathered the necessary tools.
- - -
He was dreaming of deep red poppies. He was Dorothy, laying in them and sleeping soundly. He was happy. The clouds came. They were dark, ominous, and heavy. That is when the snow began to fall.
He awoke in a sweat. He craved a taste of the white powder in his dreams. It had been weeks.
He wanted to get up from the chair, walk around to stretch his muscles, and splash water on what he was sure was a pale face. But he couldn’t move. He was stuck in a grey room, attached to a metal chair with uncomfortable handcuffs.
Besides, he though bitterly,
there is no sink in the room anyway.
The heavy door made a slight whooshing sound as it opened slowly.
She walked into the room, dressed in her new signature black – this time cotton pants and halter top. She also wore long black gloves, leather of course.
It was a now familiar scene. McKenas Cole handcuffed to a chair while Sydney Bristow was facing him with her stone face and expressive eyes; holding a gun, knife, or other torturous device.
The image of this moment struck him as funny. He couldn’t help it as he started laughing. Sydney narrowed her eyes, distain for this man pouring out of her. He could see it in the way that she stood, the way that she looked at him, and the way that she failed to see the other truth glaring into her eyes.
He wondered when she would realize why her mother had asked them to intercept him and Lauren. He wondered when she would ask herself why Sark had not been surprised at the information she had found. He wondered when she was going to see through the lens of vengeance and use the brain he knew was hiding in there. But most of all, he wondered when she was going to open her big brown eyes and grow the frack up.
She was a pawn, a puzzle piece fitting nicely into place, doing what it is told so easily. And he knew that wasn’t really the way she was. He remembered the young bitch that ruined his scheme at SD-6 all those years ago when he had been working for her mother. And he remembered the way she had refused to be brainwashed by him and the rest of The Covenant.
So yes, this situation was so frackin hilarious that the only thing he could do was laugh. She lived; blissfully unaware of what was under the surface. Superficiality personified, thy name is Sydney Bristow.
“Shall we begin, Cole?”
She had a small black bag with her, no large torture device. He knew that it couldn’t be the needles of fire. Rather, he hoped it wouldn’t be them. They had a nasty of habit of getting him to sing for his supper.