Re: Contact in Russia 7 Chapter 7
"You are a fool to think that any of our people would even agree to such a thing," Rebecca said, her voice taut with suppressed pain.
Samuel cast a worried glance at her, and then added, "Try as you wish, Brian, but you will get nowhere."
Brian laughed condescendingly, and pulled a small recording device from his case and turned it on to the play-back mode. He watched with a smirk as the two listened in dismay to the recording of his earlier phone conversation.
"Greeth? This is Brian; you might remember me as R." The bitterness in the tone was clear, "However, that's beside the point. To put it clearly, if you want Agents Rebecca and Samuel alive, you'll meet me- alone and unarmed- four hours from now, in the back parking lot of the bakery that just closed down last week. Try any tricks or show up with the wrong information, and they're dead."
A long pause followed before Greeth's voice could be heard. "I'll be there."
Brian's smirk, however, deepened while he watched
Re: Contact in Russia ProloguePrologue
A trainee- not even a qualified staff member yet- was supposed to handle documents and paperwork; certainly not bomb threats. Paul fumbled with the printout as the silent machine spat it out.
"Classification?" Rebecca asked. Her tone hinted at boredom as she fiddled with a twenty five paneled Rubix cube.
"B20," Paul said.
Rebecca perked up at that as she tossed the cube onto the 'IN' tray at the corner of her desk. "I'll take it. Let me guess- a bomb scare at the elementary school?"
Jay snorted from his cubicle as Paul handed her the sheet.
"Right in one, again," Rebecca said, shutting down her connection to the networks. "Everything looks fine- the police said that some kid had something suspicious in his lunch box again, but that they didn't recognize one of the pieces. They wanted someone to check up on it, just to be safe. I'll check in with Greeth and I'll be back within an hour, you'll see, Jay."
As she left, grabbing a small metal box
Re: Contact in Russia 6Chapter 6
"Greeth," C2's team leader A'Rol said curtly in his preoccupation. "Jay's got a trace on them, he's just a few minutes away from pinpointing their location," A'Rol added while Greeth scanned the screens in front of A'Rol.
"Good, good." Greeth muttered.
A'Rol pressed a finger to the earpiece of his headset. A moment later, he turned back to face Greeth. "You should talk to Beth," he said. "She's got a read on their vital signs and things are haywire."
Greeth nodded shortly and stepped to the main office space where the various team members had their cubicles. Even at the first glance of the specially designed and lengthened flat-screens, Greeth knew something was amiss. "What on earth-?" he breathed.
Beth barely paused in her furious typing, "One moment, sir." When she paused, she pressed a small key on the edge of the adapted keyboard, and then spun her chair around to face him. "I don't suppose A'Rol said anything?"
"No, only that things have been out of control."
The air on the wharf smelled of pungent salt, dead fish, and fresh baked bread. For the majority of the year, the sky was overcast, hanging with the heavy weight of the oppressive grey clouds. The waves pounded against shore, against the docks with an irrepressible vengeance. Oblivious to it all, the merchants cried their wares day after day, the fishers fought the currents for the fish that would put food on the tables back at home, and the children ran screaming and fighting through the streets, dodging the streetcars as they went. The endless routines continued; nothing new, nothing old ever causing a stir within the small wharf. With the passing of time, the colors had all leeched from the buildings, casting all in a hue of grey that was only slightly lighter then the crashing waves and darker then the bleeding sky.
In all of the grey, one thing and one thing alone stood out. The grown newsboy that cried his father's wares to the market place saw things di
The World's TearsA World's Tear
The oceans are full of them, you know. The tears we cry, the tears we hide. The oceans themselves are just one fat tear; the world's tear. With only a tear, it weeps; weeps for the thing we have lost, forgotten through time. The lives of those who lived in the background, their life's work thought unimportant as they created a backdrop for those whose did. The world weeps for them, remembering when no one else would. There are those things that we shuttled aside, quickly lost in the mires of dreams unachieved. The creations of the mind and heart that were once considered art and now are not. The world weeps, giant fat tears, filling the oceans to their brims. When we have weighed the cost of hours and the cost of supplies against the correct standards of the day, and found the piece to be lacking, the art is considered art no more, and lost. The world weeps. The energy of such fervor to create this work, to take something intangible
Re: Contact in Russia 5Chapter 5
"You will talk to me, Rebecca!" Brian growled, losing patience an hour later.
Her head spun, and her vision blurred completely. Rebecca chewed her lip, holding back the words that Brian wanted to hear. "Rebecca. C1," she muttered her voice rough after a nearly endless repetition of the phrase.
"Z! Tell me about Z!"
"Who works in the abandoned fabric factory?"
"Rebecca. C1." Her voice was barely audible, and her body had gone limp.
"Rebecca! Look at me!"
When she did not reply for a long moment, Brian forced her head up to reveal that she was only partially conscious.
Brian let her head drop with disappointed sigh. "It's a pity anymore serum would outright kill you," he said while hastily detaching the drip line. "Six! Get in here and bring her back to the cell. I'll deal with the pair of them later"
The guard entered immediately and undid the restraints before carrying Rebecca back to the other room.
Samuel had awoken some time earlier and men
Re: Contact in Russia 4Chapter 4
The door slid open once again, this time to admit Brian. "He'll sleep it off, no worries," he said casually.
"Brian. What is it that you want from us?" Rebecca asked, a note of warning in her tone.
"Answers. Your friend was very uncooperative, so I thought some encouragement would help." He glanced over his shoulder, jerking his head towards Rebecca. "Get in here Six." He raised an eyebrow.
"You have two choices come quietly or make things harder for your friend. He could easily wake up in immense pain."
Rebecca nodded, "I'll come."
Six pulled her towards the only chair in the cramped room, clearing intending to bind her to it. An IV bag of clear liquid hung ominously just behind it.
Brian chuckled as he followed her gaze. "Tell me what I want, and it won't be necessary." Rebecca struggled against Six, but the bulky man ignored her, quickly binding her to the chair at the wrists, elbows and ankles. "Thank you, Six, we'll be fine from here."
Re: Contact in Russia 3Chapter 3
The room was moderately sized, but its purpose was quite clear: to securely hold whoever was in it. Three hours had passed since Rebecca and Samuel had woken to find themselves in the silent room, bare of any weapons they had carried before.
The door swung open with a subtle hiss of hidden electronics. Rebecca and Samuel immediately jumped to their feet, positioning themselves for an attack. Their wrists were still bound in steel manacles, but neither heeded them as an imposing figure stepped through the door, sealing it from behind.
Their expressions did not change, but the air crackled with a palpable tension. The man spoke, his sharp voice shattering the silence. "One of you is coming with me. It is your choice."
When neither person moved, Brian growled. "Decide, now! Otherwise I'll decide for you and the other won't appreciate it. That's a promise."
Samuel glanced at Rebecca, who nodded in agreement. He moved to step forward, but paused, testing their captor. Brian'