Chapter Three
I'm posting chapters 1-3 for you RT, just ignore the previous posts.:
The Neutron Storm
Chapter One
"There's a time to fight, and a time to run away!"
-any Frenchman
"Andar! Andar!" the head waiter blurted out as he made his way past Hector and into the ship's hold. This bit of Spanish fervently reminded him of where he was and why he was dressed like a waiter. When
Trying to keep on schedule, Hector (know by his government moniker as Rook-5) grabbed a plate of hors devours and headed topside trying not to be noticed. The sea air was refreshing compared to the dishes being cooked up downstairs and probably kept him from blowing chunks and his cover. Licking his thumb, Hector smoothed a rogue hair behind his ear and leaned over a scantily clad woman, sunbathing on the deck. Offering up his tray of dead sea creatures and cheese, fluent baja Spanish flowed from his lips as he offered up compliments like he did the brie. Hector's eyes meandered across the tan backs of several ladies when his earbud microphone crackled to life.
"Rook! It's time to get moving! You're behind schedule!" the booming voice of Bishop was unmistakable.
Hector walked and smiled as he mumbled into his sleeve. "Tell me again Bishop why I was chosen for this mission...it's because I look so good in this tux isn't it?"
Bishop's reply was to the point, "Cut the small talk and get to the distraction!"
Hector sat down his tray of fish and cheese on a sunchair and knelt beside the entrance to Shige Nishiguchi’s office. Shige carried out all of his ‘business proceedings’ at sea. International waters made legality a bit more ‘hazy’ as well as offered him the protection of miles of water in all directions to prevent being listened in on. He also made sure to surround himself with two things. Beautiful women and Yakuza. Hector had been trained in international terrorist organizations and how to recognize them, but it didn’t take an expert to recognize that these three-piece suits in ninety-eight degree weather were Japanese mafia.
As he knelt next to the port cabin, Hector feigned a loose shoelace while waiting for one of the ‘decorations draped in suntan oil’ to turn over on her stomach. This would give him more than enough time to carry out his distraction also.
Moving with the efficiency that originally won him this job, Hector released the rubber seal on the heel of his shoe that held his distraction in place. Owing to the deviousness of company minds, Hector’s right shoe sole had been hollowed out and filled with simple vegetable oil. Also, the standard heel had been replaced with a more pliable plastic so that, when he walked, the oil would be ejected rearward. Now, normally, this would not be considered a highly useful item in the field of espionage, but when one tied the meticulously waxed deck with the added vegetable oil, it quickly turned into the fifth force of nature.
The simplicity of it all is what really appealed to Hector. Less moving parts just meant less likely to malfunction.
After adjusting his tie and giving the initial outflow time to form a serious obstruction, Hector slammed his right shoe down once for good measure and quickly made his way starboard to await the next anxious waiter.
Since being topside, Hector had made a circuitous route around the top deck sizing up the number and position of all the important people. Checking the sides of beef guarding Shige’s office once more, he silently prayed that these guys weren’t as good as they dressed. Shige and his business associates had made their way to the rear deck, most likely to enjoy their very expensive dinner. Which meant the main course should be being pushed out via a sterling silver push cart … any… second.
A sound akin to a windchime factory exploding may be the only thing you could relate to what happened next . Counting on the waiter to not see the near-invisible oil accompanied by his due speed to impress his host, the two thugs guarding the office watched as half of the first course accompanied the waiter overboard. This, as expected, caused the metal and muscle in Armani’s to investigate… exactly as Hector had hoped.
Using the resulting noise and confusion and a little help from a top of the line set of lockpicks, Hector managed to greet the other side of the door before Felipe was fished out of the drink.
Darkness surrounded him faster than the feeling of lonliness that always accompanies it. How quickly he recalled the layout of the office was contrasted only by the slowness in which he made his way across it. Apparently, someone had left the computer on providing the perfect beacon for him to follow. Locating the printer was actually harder than he anticipated. The printer had been attached to the desk from underneath; hanging upside down like a bat. Working with a clever combination of speed and efficiency, Rook carefully removed the printer ribbon from the humming printer. He had just reached down to retrieve it’s replacement when he heard the sounds of gunfire coming from the rear deck. The gunfire element seemed to put his mission on a whole new timetable.
Trying not to work too fast, Rook found himself ripping the fake printer ribbon from it’s sewn-in hiding place in his pants leg. In the process, he not only took the bottom eight inches of pants leg with it, but also a screamable amount of leg hair. As his eyes rolled with the pain, he clenched his teeth trying not to scream. After all, he was a professional.
Focusing past the evident pain, Rook managed to put the fake ribbon in place while placing the stolen printer ribbon into an airtight plastic bag he had lifted from the kitchen.
Another three shots in a row snapped his mind back to the more pressing problem. Feeling down his back, he placed the bag into his cummerbund while removing his custom made Sig-Sauer P-220 into his left hand. Making his way back across the cabin, he stopped in the doorway trying to deduce the make and model of the weapon being fired. From the methodical rhythm of shots, he was positive it must be an execution style killing. Had Shige dared to mess with the Yakuza? Or had the Yakuza finally gotten tired of Shige’s high prices? Either way, this little killing spree was not in the notes about this mission and that meant resorting to plan B…head for moisture and swim like hell.
Waiting for one more round of shots to be fired (12 gauge definitely), Rook slammed the cabin door open and made his way back topside into the light of day. The first thing to run through his mind upon setting foot on the deck was, “Why is everyone staring at me?” which was followed closely by, “What an odd time to shoot skeet.”
What Rook (or, as Bishop would say right now “Rookie”) had just blown in stealth, he decided to make up for in surprise. He also noticed at that same instance, from the size of the weaponry every man in a suit just pulled out, the Yakuza didn’t believe in ‘wound’em and take’em alive’.
There is an old cliche’ about a point of no return, and with a few curse words intermingled, Rook kept repeating this phrase to himself in the twelve languages he had been taught. In his own mind, it seemed to improve his aim.
Dropping down on one knee and spinning, he managed to take out the knees of a dishonorable offender behind him. Rook turned rapidly to find himself face to face with a sterling silver serving tray. A waiter rounding the corner collided with the panicking C.H.E.S.S. agent and caused Hector to back up onto a writhing bodyguard, one who’s knees had just been rearranged. Hector grabbed for the railing which caused him to turn and fall over to the lower deck six feet below. There he made a three point landing onto a freshly waxed deck. Running aft of the ship, he used the fact that everyone was still stunned and some of the vegetable oil residue the falling discharged to propel himself through two henchman, over a deck chair, and right up to Shige Nishiguchi himself.
<“Anyone takes a shot at me and the man who pays the rent is sporting one more orifice!”> Rook shouted in a near perfect dialect of Tokyo Japanese.
<”Very impressive Mr.---?”>, Shige inquired.
<”Soze, Keyser Soze.”>
About this time, a short, balding, Japanese man who appeared straight out of an Akira Kurosawa film, the apparent leader of the Yakuza that were present, spoke up. “Why should we care if you shoot him? It would only keep us from having to pay for what we are here to acquire. Drop your weapon and you will die honorably.”
“Oh really? Any free toaster with that offer? Look yujin, all I want is off this slow boat to
After opening his eyes from the near cliché kick, Rook noticed several things about his assailant he hadn’t before. Like her long, flowing black hair that added to the remarkable figure she was sporting under some eyepatches and string she was trying to pass off as a bikini. But that was fine by Rook, he had always supported a woman’s right to exploit her own body. Especially when it looked like this. Considering her remarkable attractiveness, he wasn’t surprised he didn’t pick up on the three foot sword at his throat sooner. He voiced the only thought he could muster, “Where in the world do you keep the sword?”
As if she were mute or very well trained, Shige spoke for her.
“Mr. Soze, meet my bodyguard Hiromi Matsumura. She is descended from a long line of bodyguards to the king of
Hector paused a moment to once again run his eyes up and down his assailant. With her washboard stomach and her perfect breasts all olive colored and highlighted by the Pacific sun, he could only think of one reply, “So, how much does she charge for a couple of hours in the cabin?” He couldn’t be sure, but he thought the sword she was holding went just a bit deeper.
“Very amusing Mr. Soze. But, I am afraid you have outlived your entertainment value. If you would like to improve your odds at a quick death, you can tell me who you work for. Otherwise, you leave me no choice but to kill you and leave you to the barracuda.”
During these threats, Hiromi had gotten Hector to his feet. He had, by chance, placed his hand on a stack of clay pigeons to steady himself and left it there while searching for a way out.
“Okay Shige, you’ve got me dead to rights. But, if I tell you who sent me, you have to promise not to fire Hiromi here.”
“Why, whatever makes you think I would do that?” Shige commented, almost laughing.
“Because, O Great Sempai, the person you are paying the mucho yen to, in order to guard your body, didn’t even bother, before she let me near you, to check me for explosive devices…”
With the last comment, Rook flicked his wrist, hurtling the clay pigeon amongst the crowd that was growing ever larger.
This caused a moment of panic.
Even Hiromi balked for a moment allowing her hold on Hector and the sword falter. Rook wasted no opportunity. Exploiting his ambidexterity, his left hand activated his cufflink which was designed to allow the submarine waiting some fifty feet below to know he was coming, while his right hand drew upon years of his own martial arts training to form a chuto strike that served more to propel himself overboard than to injure Hiromi.
His world turned upside down momentarily, as he flipped backwards over the railing and into the
For a second, Rook worried about living through all of this. Then he imagined what Bishop would say at the debriefing.
Suddenly, living became the least of his problems.
Chapter Two
“Just doing our jobs.”
-F. Man and L. Boy
Suspension of time was the norm at C.H.E.S.S. debriefings and this one
was no exception. Rook had managed two hours of sleep while the agents
aboard the U.S.S. Los Angeles worked to decipher what Shige had been writing
about on his printer ribbon. Presently, he was trying to nod off while Bishop ran
through the usual pre-meeting introductions.
“…and finally everyone, I would like to introduce Dr. Raymond Chang, Professor of Biochemistry at the
The glare from Bishop alone has been blamed for more than one early retirement, but Rook was so happy that was all of the chastising he received, that he couldn’t help but smile.
All that Hector could think of, was that something big was going down. Most of the people in this room never congregated together for safety’s sake, and the fact that 90% of them did not exist on paper made him feel suddenly very cold.
“The floor is yours Dr. Chang.”
“We had to go back a week to find anything of interest on the ribbon. It seems that Mr. Nishiguchi had a great deal of correspondence with a Dr. Albrecht Brusher of
“Excuse me Dr.,” Hector chimed in, “but does infamous mean ‘not famous’ or ‘really famous’…because I’ve never heard of it.” All of this said to Bishop’s disdain.
“The Neutron accelerator,” Dr. Chang cleared his throat with, “as Dr. Brusher calls it, is a device that concentrates neutrons into a focusable beam and propels them at unheard of distances. Of course, all of this technology was presumed to be theoretical.”
“You know what happens when you presume…”, Rook tried to sound witty but after a few moments of silence and some stares you could chill your drink with, he concluded, “…so how does this relate to Mr. Nishiguchi?”
From here Bishop took over.
“Evidence obtained from the printer ribbon supports our theory that Mr. Nishiguchi was selling the plans for this ray to the Yakuza, who would act as an international distributor for the plans to the highest bidder.”
C.H.E.S.S. stands for Command Headquarters Eschelon: Secret Service, so it was no surprise that the director of the visible secret service, Dan Huntington, was present. It was he who was the next to speak.
“Okay Bishop, we all know that you and your James Bond types like to keep secrets from us lay people, but that’s not why we are called the ‘secret service’. This neutron ray doesn’t sound like it is responsible for any counterfeiting or assassination attempts so cut to the chase…why are we involved and not the NSA?
“Dan, I’m impressed with your bluntness if not downright insulted. But I do apologize for getting ahead of myself. But before I bore you with any theories, I should let you read the note.”
With that last remark, Bishop flipped a switch on the table in front of him and wheeled himself athletically out of the beam of light the projector was now emitting. Dual panels folded simultaneously back from an ignored shelf and the lights dimmed bringing the dull canvas to life, imitating an oversized sheet of stationary which this “note” that Bishop had referred to was written.
Dear Mr. President,
You shall pay for your insolence.
Noone can escape the
NEUTRON STORM!
Gabriel, messenger of the Lord
Bishop broke the silence after an acceptable reading time. “Of course, the letter was typed by the most common brand of typewriter and the frightening thing is that it was in an envelope with no postmark, and the President’s mail sorters don’t ever remember seeing it.”
Virginia Connors, a C.H.E.S.S. agent of Knight rank, followed on Bishop’s heels. “So, can this ray be configured to be used as an offensive weapon?”
Before Bishop could ask Dr. Chang to answer, he did. “I want to reiterate, this ray is entirely theoretical on any managable scale. One neutron ‘gun’ has been made, but it is a half-mile long and puts off enough heat to be picked up from space.”
“What if it were being fired from space? Wasn’t a former Georgian republic satellite launch site commandeered only last week by a group of men claiming to be Bolsheviks?” Lou Bugliosi scared even Rook sometimes. In civilian life Lou was a department head of “special affairs” in the C.I.A. But everyone, including Rook, knew that Lou answered to nobody and, up until now, nobody present but Lou had heard of this launch site heist.
“Interesting theory Lou, Dr. Chang, is this a possibility?”
“He can’t seriously threaten the President with neutrons unless he’s several feet from him. Even concentrated portions released from the gun only travel a few yards before becoming non-lethal. Sure, it would travel through space unhindered, but once it hit the water in the air it would break up into simple radiation which could only be deadly if the President sat there and absorbed it.”
Bishop seemed unconvinced, “Nevertheless, this Gabriel fellow fancies himself God’s messenger and that’s just where God would strike from. Knight-3, I want you to get to that Georgian launch site and inspect it personally. And Rook-5, you need to be in Stanford in two hours. This Dr. Brusher just made his way to the top of
Chapter Three
“What’re they gonna do? They’re Indians!”
-G.A. Custer
The small private seaplane banked out of the clouds to be met head on by what can only be described as majestic. Dr. Albrecht Brusher forgot momentarily of his abduction and the trauma associated therewith while he tried to catch his breath.
“Daddy, daddy look over there!”
Melinda Brusher, all of thirteen going on thirty, still held a strange mixture of excitement to their new surroundings and a stoic denial that anything was going to happen to them after her and her father had been kidnapped from their Stanford,
The sight out of the plane’s window however, was one of sunlight dancing on mist that played out into a magnificent rainbow. The majestic part stemmed from the fact that the water supplying the mist originated somewhere above the plane in the clouds and crashed somewhere below, silently through the glass, into a sea of mist; the only tell-tale sign that it had ever reached bottom.
As the plane cleared the waterfall and danced along the tops of trees, Albrecht knew he was no longer in the
The plane jolted and headed straight for the trees all in less than three seconds. But before Albrecht could panic or console his daughter, the familiar splash of water echoed underneath the planes fuselage. With a commensurate decline in engine noise, the dark man holding a weapon on the professor and his daughter spoke up, “Get up and be ready to move.”
The chance to stretch was a welcome one to Albrecht, who had been afraid to move and remembers falling asleep in the same position hours ago. Clutching his daughter with his body between her and the gun, Albrecht cursed himself for ever getting involved with the underworld. Only months ago, his hopes of an early retirement had come when a Japanese man had approached him interested in funding his research. The man had been very supportive at first showering money on Albrecht like he was a professional football player. The influx of money was all he had needed to move his and Ray Chang’s “Neutron Gun” from drawing board to finished product.
But the man demanded to have copies of all his notes and details of how everything worked. Both he and Ray had agreed for safety’s sake to leave out a few of the less obvious, but necessary adjustments. A week ago, he had placed all of his notes in an envelope and, on a whim, sent them to his ex-wife Angela. They still got along well enough for him to retrieve them when this blew over and it got them out of his house in case someone was to visit in the middle of the night.
It looks like he was just in time. Yesterday, Albrecht arrived home from work to find his house in shambles and his daughter tied to a chair. A few “I don’t know what you’re talking about’s” and an hour later, he and his daughter were on a private plane to the jungle.
Albrecht and his daughter were guided off the plane where they set foot onto an anachronistic dock set in pre-cambrian times. The dock jutted out into the water like a long wooden tongue held in place for eternity outside the mouth of the jungle. Albrecht realized now why he thought they were crashing. Barely any light escaped the clutches of the overhead canopy to fall onto the lake doubling as the landing pad. The lake looked manmade as it was unnaturally straight and narrow, perfect for landing planes-if one knew beforehand of it’s location. Quickly the manmade drug-runner landing strips came to mind, and he wondered if that wasn’t what he had stumbled upon.
Stepping off of the dock and back into time, Melinda clutched the only remnant of home she had managed to take along, a Stanford High baseball cap…home of the tigers.
With a yell in Spanish and a nudge from his gun, their captors directed the two Americans into a well concealed metal framework box which, upon closer examination, was discovered to be a crude freight elevator, right in the middle of the jungle. With a flip of a switch and a jolt of recognition, the elevator came to life screaming a warning that was barely audible over the rumble of a waterfall which must have been near.
The jungle floor opened up and swallowed the trio revealing a set of small watt bulbs that now lit the darkness. Upon reaching the bottom, (it must have been thirty floors!) a metal grate obscured whatever the room beyond held in store for Albrecht. Decidedly colder but still humid, the dark man led the two into a hallway and through a room where the coldness of concrete gave way to the most plush and expensive guest room he had ever seen. The man motioned for Albrecht to have a seat and pushed the girl onwards.
“Daddy!”
Albrecht stepped forward only to be met by a muzzle. “Don’t worry Melinda. If they wanted us dead, we would be that way already. I’ll see you soon, I promise!” and then softer to his captor, “Don’t even THINK about hurting her.” As if he didn’t understand English, the dark man never changed expressions and motioned for him to sit once again.
“Where are we…who are you people?” Albrecht stammered.
“
A flash of panic went through Albrecht’s eyes as he became suddenly cold. Any fear caused by having a gun waved in his face was suddenly dwarfed by this mysterious lunatic. He didn’t know why, but everything that came out of this man’s mouth seemed to be dripping with charisma. Almost as if he was an anti-messiah.
“Where did you take my daughter…”
“Don’t speak. It only bores me. Personally, I enjoy the sound of my own voice over that of others. I am the messenger of the Lord you know. Come closer, I will take you to your daughter. After a brief tour of the facilities. I strictly believe in giving a new employee the grand tour after his ‘get acquainted’ session. Follow me.” The hooded one turned to leave through a wall that opened for him, only adding to his extra-human quality.
Dr. Brusher quickly followed, not knowing why he was so petrified of this man. He knew his partner, Dr. Chang, had contacts in the Japanese mafia, but who questions where the money comes from when it allows you your life’s dream?
“What did you mean by new employee?” Albrect said, challenging the ‘don’t speak’ edict.
“Well doctor, you may wish to look upon it as a promotion. You’ve been working for me for months; I just recently decided to move you to the home office.” The statement echoed off of the steel walls that seemed to be taking the two even further down into the mountain.
“What about Mr. Nishiguchi? He told me that I had an ‘angel’ for my project who wished to donate money but wished to remain anonymous…was that you?”
“Ah yes, Mr. Nishiguchi.” Gabriel stopped in front of a panel that obviously doubled as a television monitor, as it sprang to life. The image depicted was one of Shige Nishiguchi, still in his tuxedo from days earlier, being lowered into a tank suspended by his bound hands and a rope that led upwards into darkness. As he feet broke the surface of the water, Shige writhed and screamed in Japanese as the water roiled with the thrashing of dozens of fish around the businessman’s legs. “Unfortunately, he had to be liquidated. He determined he could make more money by selling your research to the highest bidder.” Gabriel turned from the gruesome site to see Albrecht averting his own gaze.
“You bastard…you…bastard.”
The monitor drew to a pinpoint of light as it shut off. The screams stopped as well. “Now now professor, look upon this event as an opportunity. You have to turn your lemons into lemonade!”
Another wall opened for Gabriel, as if on cue, revealing a scientist’s dream. Stocked with every known chemical, drug, lab equipment, and, at first glace, what appeared to be a CT scanner, the laboratory rivaled any he had ever been in. “I think you’ll find all the necessary equipment you’ll need here to continue your research. Unfortunately, our timetable for completion has been moved up so I’ll need you to get back to work immediately.”
“But my daughter, you told me you would take me to her…”
“Don’t worry Dr., I have hired you a personal secretary and nanny who will look after you and Melinda’s every need. Hiromi!” At that request, a sleek Japanese woman dressed all in black appeared behind Albrecht. “She used to work for Mr. Nishiguchi, but …he no longer requires her services. Luckily, she agreed to stay on and help out.” Albrecht could feel Gabriel grinning underneath his hood. “I’ll let you two get to work.” And with that, Albrecht’s next question was ignored as Gabriel sauntered out of the room before he could finish it.
Albrecht stared at Hiromi who still hadn’t spoken, so he thought he wouldn’t bother being the first. Turning away from her, he couldn’t focus on his dream lab or his research not knowing where Melinda was. The one thing he was sure of was that Gabriel was insane AND insanely rich. And what was that bit about assassinating a president? The president wasn’t dead. But Albrecht felt he surely was if he didn’t start getting results. “How do I get myself into these things?”
A question that would never be answered.
posted by Midnight Train @ 1:57 PM
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