| "Moonlight and Trouble" | ||
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Outside Petrenko's Dacha June 10, 2008, 0345 hours "Hostiles have retreated, fall back and maintain stance," he ordered. The others acknowledged with a couple of taps and duly fell back around the dacha, weapons pointed out into the woods just in case something untoward happened. It was better to be safe than sorry. Still lying prone on the ground he smiled as he ran through the defense of the Dacha. It had been a brilliant plan, and the execution had been perfect. No rounds fired, no people killed, and the target intact. Engagements don't get much better than this, he thought to himself. This one would have to be written down, refined, then taught to others. That made him smile again. He was becoming like Sergei. The small hill he was perched on gave him an excellent view of the surrounding area, yet he still had trouble following the progress of the departing attackers; every now and then he would lose sight of them. He picked them up just as they were about to leave his field of vision. He considered following them. It was a tough choice. On the one hand he should remain where he was in case there was a second attack; something he doubted given the panic and confusion his defense had caused amongst them. On the other hand he was both intrigued and pissed off with the attackers. They had been far too good to have been renegade protesters as he had been led to expect. That troubled him more than he was willing to admit. The individuals encountered tonight had moved with an elegance that made him smile until he realized he should be frowning. They were trained, he could tell, and there was something familiar about their movement. He had seen it before, but he couldn't think where. Jesus, he thought, we've just defeated trained soldiers without firing a single bullet. It was something to marvel at. He heard a rustle behind him. It wasn't very loud but it was close. It sounded like someone walking. Fuck. Whoever it was he willed them to go away. He could not move because it would give his position away, and besides, if he wasn't allowed to shoot what was the point of exposing himself? There wasn't any. He wouldn't be able to defend himself. Another step closer came the sound. Fuck off, he willed the unseen individual. His hand reached down and rested on his silenced pistol, ready to pull it if he had to. After all, a loaded gun still held bargaining power even if he couldn't fire it. Two steps more, he figured, before the person would be on top of him. And he was lying on his front, facing away. Talk about not covering your six! He was about to get his arse shot, probably quite literally, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. He held his breath and waited. He felt the boot press into his calf muscle and slip off. He instinctively moved his leg, and this only served to increase the individual's rate of fall. He brought his weapon up as he turned his body, his eyes searching for the head of his opponent. The darkness made it difficult, but he caught a glimpse of a head. His movements were automatic. The pistol came up and tracked the head's fall, then pressed against it once it had stopped moving. At the same time he felt something poke him in the chest, then realized the object was a muzzle. He froze. Now what? his mind asked. Die or get court-martialed were the only two options he could find. If he didn't react then he would get shot. If he did then he would get fucked over for breaking SOP. The figure was looking at him; he could see their mind racing as fast as his was. Then something clicked in them, for they changed slightly."Moonlighter." What the fuck? Moonlighter? Ok, he could handle having a gun pointed at his chest without even blinking, but mind games? What the fuck was going on? He had never been called Moonlighter, and yet she said it with recognition. In English. Well, English with an American accent. How did he reply? Should he play dumb or follow the language lead? He decided to answer in English as he looked at the masked figure and tried to make a connection. He couldn't. "It's me, from Club Samovar," she (it was definitely a female) said. He cast his mind back to the time he spent at Samovar. That was where it had all began, his mission against Konstantin, his mission against Odds, and his mission to find out who-"Trouble," he said, and his mind said `was', finishing his own thought. "Yeah," she replied as she removed the weapon from his chest and the mask from her face. "In the flesh." He hesitated, wondering if this was a trap, then moved his own weapon away from her head. He rolled over as they set about untangling their legs, finally sitting up after they accomplished the task. She was turned away from him so he turned his head from her. Something was going on here, and he hated being kept in the dark. This was not a coincidence, not by a long shot, but he could not see the point in the teams facing off. "I'm guessing you don't really work for the FBI," Trouble said. "I'm guessing you don't really work for the CIA," he replied evenly. A small shrug. "Touch�." She stood and began brushing the particles of earth from her clothing. "I hate to state the obvious but you're team's here to protect Petrenko?" she asked him. He looked at her in a puzzled way. Finally he retorted, "I wouldn't exactly say you were being neighbourly towards him." She didn't smile. "We'll give you round one, but I can assure you, you won't get round two," she threatened. She looked quite cute when she did that. He smirked. "I'll tell you what. You give me your address and I'll make sure your body bag gets sent there. Can't be fairer than that." She smiled at that, the kind of smile that told you she would accept the challenge. It took him a couple of seconds to realise that she was looking at him, almost studying his face. He suddenly became aware of how he must look, his face still covered in the bruises and abrasions suffered at the hands of Fat Bastard (deceased) and Daniel Odds (wished he was deceased). A very different face from the one she had seen back in Club Samovar. Then again, she had changed too. Nothing major, a subtle change at most. He knew he wasn't gifted at reading people, far from it, but for some reason he seemed to be able to read her, and he could tell that something had changed in her. "Who had fun on your face?" she asked, her brow furrowing in a way that only made her look cuter. He touched one of the bruises on his cheek lightly. "Well, some girls like that kind of thing, and who am I to say no?" It was a lame attempt at humour, he knew, but he didn't care. Trouble broke the brief silence. "So," she said, "what are we gonna do about this?" "What ARE we going to do about this?" he repeated. She shook her head and said, "You can't answer a question with a question." "Why not?" he asked. It seemed perfectly reasonable to him, which is why his answer was yet another question. He wondered if she would pick up on it. "Because you can't. That's just the way it is." Obviously not. The whole thing was catching up with him now. He needed to get away, to compose his thoughts. He nodded at her and said, "It was nice seeing you again, Trouble," before turning and walking away from her and towards his `bed'. He heard her say something about him walking away but he dismissed it with a waved hand. "You'll be dead by sunrise!" she shouted. He stopped. It was extremely unwise to have her shouting like this, especially so close to Petrenko. He stopped where he was and composed himself. Not wanting to give away his apprehension he put on a grin and turned back to her. He moved towards her, seeing the smile on her face. Bitch was enjoying this, he thought. "So, you're willing to deal?" he asked her, hoping she would keep her voice down. She seemed agitated, and that was not a good thing, especially since she was holding a loaded weapon. A nod of the head. "I think it's stupid for us to go at it again, we'll all end up getting dead, or at least a majority of us." "Agreed." The time for banter and joking had passed. "I can only promise to talk to my boss'. They're pretty hell bent on Petrenko's ass being nailed to the wall. He's done some bad things...into some bad shit." Thinking back to the briefing he replied, "I know." How could he explain to her the reason he was protecting him? He couldn't, at least not in the rapidly decreasing timeframe they had. "I will contact my superior and explain the situation. Maybe there is a solution that is acceptable to us both." "I don't know what they'll say, but..." She raised her hand to signal an incoming communication. He nodded. He tuned out her conversation and instead focused on her, taking in details that could one day prove useful. It was something that had saved him in the past. Besides, something told him that her words were unimportant; she would not have allowed him to hear them had they been. "I gotta go," she told him. He thought for a second, then said, "We'll meet back here in four hours. Is that enough time to talk to your people?" Trouble shrugged her shoulders. "It will have to be." "Come alone." "You too." "I give you my word," he said as he extended his hand. She took it. "You have my word, too." Return |
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