| "If Any Man Would Follow Me" | ||
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New Hampshire woods, abandoned naval base 23rd may 2008 18.00 hours "Did you see how he did that?" "Did what?" "Got in there, skipped any alarms, and all, and then he got us down before those other blokes found us." "Yeah. so?" "Well, could YOU have done that? It was, like, something out of a James Bond movie, or no, Mission Impossible or something!" "sure. me and my friends do that all the time back home." "Right. and I'm superman. But I'd bet he's the closest thing to him either of us are likely to see anytime soon." John the nerd's voice trailed off as he looked back at Eric, lying on his back among the leaves a little beyond them. He appeared to be asleep, lying as he was. He'd noticed that Eric did that. would lay down somewhere on his back when nothing was happening, and just go to sleep. So it seemed, and if he wasn't sleeping at such times, then John couldn't figure out when he DID sleep. The really remarkable thing about it was that he was on his back. John could never sleep on his back, but this man did, as if it were most natural. He'd read somewhere, once, that Green Beret's would sleep on their backs so they could keep their Load Bearing Vests (LBVs) on in relative comfort, without resting on their survival gear, weapons, and ammo. Indeed, Eric was wearing a fisherman's vest loaded with photography and surveillance gear, and who knew what else, but John had taken his off some time ago. Propelled by his insatiable curiosity, John inched forward toward Eric, even as he'd taught them to move when trying to keep a low profile. Dave was left behind in disinterested discomfort with their condition, sleeping outside as they were, or at least trying to. So confident had John become that he inched up to right beside Eric, watching his chest rise and fall evenly. He nearly jumped a foot sideways, lying on his belly though he was, when Eric spoke quietly enough that only he would hear. "I would not speak of such things if I were you." How had the man known he was there? John was sure he'd been quiet. He moved back toward Eric, and gathering his courage, replied. "Wh-What? The f-fence thing?" "Correct." "Wh-why not? That was so cool, dude! Where'd you learn that s***!" "I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you." John chuckled a little at the overused line, even daring to punch, tap, really, Eric on the shoulder. He froze, though, when the dark eyes snapped open, and the head turned toward him, fixing him in the gaze that meant death. He gulped, eyes wide, determining to take the older man more seriously from here on out. Eric saw the fear in the nerd's eyes, and nodded slightly, closing his eyes and quickly dozing again. He had been sleeping, until the two started chatting again, at which time he'd awakened. It was disturbing, to some degree, that he was so different from them, so unable to hide it. It was not that he wanted to, necessarily, but if they got too many ideas, investigated, it could cause trouble. He might be able to keep his two lives separate mentally, but his muscles, his senses didn't know the difference, and sometimes the things he'd learned in the one life proved useful in the other. Pity he didn't have a spandex suit and phone booth to change in whenever those skills were needed. Now it was just a matter of damage control. He could hope the fear of death would keep John quiet for a while. The kid could pay attention, at least, when he wanted to, could learn. Not that he'd teach him anything classified, nor even the tactics shown in the exclusive documentaries, but he'd give him more responsibility in this project than he would to David. That one was just baggage, as far as Eric was concerned. Then his cell phone, in his chest pocket, vibrated. He took a breath and placed the earpiece in his ear, punching the talk button, all in one smooth, spare movement. "Schweig, situation warm, so make it quick & quiet." "It's Gray. We need you at Safe House 1 at 20 hundred hours for a briefing." Eric took another breath. Briefings, missions, all fine, he supposed, but what was he supposed to do about this cover? It had been designed, he understood, to allow him to go absent WITH pre-arranged leave, ostensibly on assignments for the job, really for the SIA-Taskforce. It didn't allow for him to go AWOL. but then, what job under a boss did. "Roger Wilco. Snowy Owl out." He disconnected before Gray could remind him of his name, status, and call sign, and motioned John back over. He spoke when the other came near, even as he turned to his belly, and started on his way toward the fence where they'd found the break. "I have to go. I need you to cover for me. Do you have your Palm?" "uh, yeah, in my vest." Eric frowned a little "Get it, and don't wake David, if you can help it." When he returned, Eric had his notes pulled up on screen, prepared to beam them. "I'm beaming my notes on the subject to you. It should be enough for you to write a draft, enough to keep them till I get back. Stall for any time they're less willing to allow. The draft is due the morning next. Do what you want about the credit. Understood" The man looked petrified. Eric took his shoulder firmly in a hand, looked him in the eye, and spoke as he had dozens of times to doubtful recruits who needed encouragement to reach their potential. "John, I've watched you. You've learned well, and have what it takes. You can do this. It is imperative that you do this. The article MUST NOT be dropped, and the dumping MUST be exposed. Now, tell me, yes or no, are you going to do this for me?" He watched John's eyes narrow, his jaw firm up, and knew before the nod came that he had succeeded. He nodded back. "Watch your six, buddy." Then he turned and almost at once faded into the fog and undergrowth. Safe House 1 1930 hours He didn't bother to change or get cleaned up before heading for the briefing. Though he might have had the time if he pushed it, there was little point in doing so. He was already in the mode, in clothes appropriate to many missions, and if others were required they would be provided at the SH or on site. To get cleaned up would wash off the edge he was currently operating on. Instead he made his way to the Range rover, camouflaged just off the road leading around the abandoned base, and drove, more or less straight, to the garage beneath the safe house. Rush hour might have been a problem in his vehicle, but the GPS, combined with other tools, revealed the best and least known routs. He arrived thirty minutes early, and made his way up to the room. He'd already called the other members of the brood, and found Cindy there, who greeted him soberly with the swooping owl salute. He returned the gesture, looking her in the eyes to determine her readiness. They all remembered the last mission, how it had gone down far differently than they'd expected. It was on her mind, but she'd dealt with the issues, as one in her position in life even before the SIA-taskforce often had to deal with failure and danger of a sort. She would be all right, as much as any of them could hope to be on this mission. Dennis arrived a few minutes later, all Ranger in mission mode. No problem there, unless he got cocky. It was good to have a seasoned warrior at one's back, Eric reflected, even if civilians did prove themselves effective for a time. His thoughts on his own team were diverted when the other team, Alpha they were called, arrived. He raised an eyebrow, seeing them again, Paige, Safara, and Jordan at least, for the first time since they'd left Section 1 before him. He knew, of course, that Paige had transfered, and had seen Safara, suspected that she might also be a part of the taskforce in some capacity. He hadn't been sure about any of the others, Jordan, Mia, Michael or Nikita, and had begun to doubt that they'd serve together again. What were they now, he wondered. How were they being used, trained, operating? The Alpha team was rounded out by the man he'd noticed with Paige at the club the other night, now sporting bright red and orange hair. Definitely not the sort one would see in the services, even the D-boys didn't go that far. It might have been done on occasion in Section 1 in order to blend in, but the "goth" look was more often chosen for that effect, and it reflected the darkness of the mentality of the operatives. This "Baz" then, as they called him, and Cindy, were the only two Civilians present. He wondered how they'd get along. Perhaps it would be a good thing, or might at least get her thoughts off of him. There was no place in his life for a woman, unless . . . But they were about to go into a mission, and needed to focus. Paige was clearly in better shape, mentally speaking, and Saf too, though morose, appeared to be free of whatever had controlled her when he'd seen her leaving the club. They would be effective operatives, effective as a team. He realized, then, how much he missed operating as one of a few equals, all knowing each other, all supporting each other with their strengths, compensating for each others' weaknesses, often without the need for communication thereof. But wishing would get him nowhere, and he turned his thoughts to the mission. He knew nothing about it yet, but that all of them were there except Mai and the long time Section 1 operatives, and Timothy was absent. So it would be big, probably, a more serious mission, rather than just an assassination of thugs, or an assault on a civilian smuggling operation. He hoped they'd have good intel for it. His emotions threatened to plunge in opposite directions, then, when the door opened and the four entered. Timothy was there among them, so he had risen in the world, not surprising, and he'd do better for the team passing on intel and holding communications than toting a rifle, anyway. But even as he recognized this fact, his eyes were drawn to Joshua, the imposing body builder and dominating physical force leading the group of commanding officers. He watched the man closely, his rival, whether he liked it or not, his weight forward and eyes narrowed as though his eyes might bore into the other to reveal its soul. As impractical as such thoughts were, he wondered if he could take the man, what the best tactics would be. Best, of course, to strike quickly and surely, not to allow it to come to hand to hand. Though Eric might be the quicker, and even that was uncertain, his blows would do less damage to the other than they would to most men. He recalled the instructions from Marc, the combat expert, trained throughout his childhood in Japan, to be the bear. All well and good against combatants used to karate, boxing, or kung fu, but against a wrestler who was himself a bear, trained primarily in such techniques? But then the other's eyes sought and found Paige's ever so briefly, and Eric resolved, whatever it took, if he found evidence of a threat to her from this man, the giant would fall, and great would be his fall. A bridge to be crossed when he came to it. Eric joined the others silently entering the conference room, and took a seat with Cindy and Dennis, Timothy taking a position at the end of the table, half way between the commanders and the teams. Would this be indicative of his position on the mission? The Alpha team, Eric noticed, sat together as expected, only Safara was longer in joining them. He had wondered how they would react to his presence, Safara, anyway, having been in Cali and not having been afforded the opportunity to deal with him as Paige had. Did she blame him directly, he wondered, though he had not, himself, captured her or given her up? She might be justified to do so, but he hoped she would not let her emotional reactions, justified or not, get in the way of her judgment on the mission. He watched her as she passed in his peripheral vision, and noted the nod of controlled, dispassionate recognition, returning it. This mission might work, but it would not be fun, as if any ever were. Return |
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