Fae
In his
previous career, Rick Fraser had been a cop, and always had an excellent memory
for names, faces and the like. But here he was a few years older, possibly
wiser, frowning slightly as he tried to recall my name. “You’re not
gonna believe this,” I’d said, by way of an introduction. Far as I can recall he
was the right side of forty and he should’ve recognised me. “Fae,” he
said, hesitantly. “Fae Donaghue?” I nodded
and smiled, relieved that he remembered me; we’d only really met a few times,
when he’d come to stay for a weekend with Pat. I’d always liked him, he’s a fun
guy, and bought me a drink even though I’m not going to be twenty one until next
fall. I sat down
and tried not to feel awkward as he looked over the scratches on my exposed
limbs; if it wasn’t for those I’d probably look like any other girl in the
resort. “Jesus
Christ, what happened to you?” “I, uh, had
a run in with a… prickly plant of some kind. Climbing down one of the
trellises,” I explained. “Ah, the
plot thickens,” he replied. “You gonna explain why?” I didn’t
need to strain to remember what had happened before I’d climbed down from the
rooms.
“Shut up!”
The guy in the balaclava – although actually they were all
wearing those, but this one was obviously the leader – marched past, toward the
bed. I held my
breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice me. Scolding myself for being so selfish, I
decided my only possible atonement would be to seek help. “What’s
going on?” a male voice, the New England drawl more pronounced with his
drowsiness, came from the direction of the adjoining room. “Who are
you?” “Michael
Svenson,” he said, unused to using his given name. Stepping into the room and
taking in the scene, he added, “Look, this is absurd. Just let my Mom go,
please. Take me if you insist, but let her go.” I bit my
lip, watching as my best friend – Michael Svenson to the world, but ‘Cal’ to his
family and to me – offered himself for such a sacrifice without any hesitation. Cal might
not have been a child genius, or as handsome or as charming, and as able to
garner friends and lovers as effortlessly as his eldest brother, but in that
moment there was no doubting he was as courageous and capable. “We’re
taking both of you,” the leader stated, giving no room for any discussion. “Now
you can either go willing, or we’ll have to be… persuasive.” “We’ll
co-operate.” ‘Just do
it, please, keep quiet, do whatever they want. Then you won’t get hurt, right?
That’s what they said in that survival book thingy Uncle Pat sent me. He figured
it was for a laugh, we all did. But who’s laughing now?’ I bit my lip again,
only just preventing the words from being spoken.
“That was
pretty much the last time I saw them,” I concluded, gratefully sipping the iced
soda water Rick’s friend had brought over for me. She seemed nice, this friend;
a petite Asian-type chick. I didn’t know her name, didn’t really know anyone
from Uncle Pat’s work; except Rick, because they’re best friends as well as
working partners. Oh, and Adam, of course, but he’s Cal’s brother so that’s a
kind of coincidence really. “And they
did not see you?” she asked, once we'd made our introductions. Apparently her
name in Chan, which is a pretty name. I shook my
head. “Well, I don’t think so, I was in the bathroom at the time. Guess if they
had, well…” I shuddered at the thought. She nodded,
and rested her hand on my shoulder as a comfort. I was grateful for that, but
didn’t want to show it too much. They had enough to do without me coming over
all ‘damsel in distress’. “So there’s
just the two of them, as hostages,” Rick clarified, “and three kidnappers.” I nodded in
response to both statements. “You’ve no
idea where they went?” He sighed
when I said no. Obviously they could be anywhere: in the resort, on the island…
hell, they could be long gone from both by now. I tried a
show of optimism. The task might seem to be daunting, but these were
professionals. Part of an elite team, and if Uncle Pat could trust them and
their efficiency, then I would too.
Ochre
About one
of the first things you learn in this job is, if in doubt, just make like it
happens all the time. I swear, we’ve been at it nearly three years now and I
honestly couldn’t tell you what had come from the training manuals, or what we’d
figured out in the field. You like to think that with our collective pool of
experience from our jobs before Spectrum that we’d get it right; but you can’t
anticipate everything. Things
like, oh, I don’t know, getting ambushed by your best friend’s niece telling you
that her friend and his mother have been taken hostage. Which obviously only
ever happens to me, while I’m happily sunning myself on a Mexican beach thinking
about how great it is to finally get a break from work. I mean, is it really too
unreasonable to have an uneventful vacation?
They looked
to me, both of them - Chan and Fae - under some strange illusions that I’d know
what to do, seeing as I was the one who had most experience in something vaguely
related to this kind of thing. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that all the
police psychology books in the world meant nothing in the face of a real life
crisis. What good would that do to admit it, anyway?
We’d gone
to the Svensons’ room by then. There’s no point in risking upsetting the other
guests – although they didn't seem interested in eavesdropping, all of them too
wrapped up in their ultimately trivial pleasures. Which must be real nice for
them; hopefully, I’ll get to join them sometime.
Jesus
Christ, I’ve lived in apartments smaller than this place! Damn sight less fancy
too. You’re almost scared to breathe in case it messes up all the glass and
chrome fittings. The décor is in a kind of hyper modern style with neutral
colours; I've never quite seen the appeal of that. Too cold and impersonal, like
you’re permanently living in a style magazine; but hey, what do I know about
interior decorating? The kidnappers trashed the
place good, which seems a bit pointless in practical terms, but I guess they
gotta look like they mean business. Forced entry through the main door, somebody
must have seen something. Well, hopefully, if they weren't all round the pool. “Think we
should go talk to the neighbours; find out if they know anything,” I suggested. Chan
half-nodded, as she rifled through the papers on the table. “They had
booked to water-ski today,” she said absently, then smiled at me. “I am sure
this will be grounds to get the deposit back.” “I think
you’re right, Harmony.” I laughed a little. She was one of those people that you
just have to get to know; shy or something, though I don’t really think there’s
anything shy about her really… Grey is kinda like that too.
Grey
It was
going to be one of those days. I could
sense it from the minute I walked into the control room that morning. Colonel
White had only been gone a day of his leave; according to him it was strictly
business, with perhaps some sightseeing. But judging by the way he was whistling
as he boarded the passenger jet to London, it wouldn’t have taken Ochre’s
detective skills to figure out there was some pleasure on his itinerary too. We
didn’t bother asking because he’d never answer. All he did say was not to
disturb him unless the Mysterons came calling, or any equivalent international
emergency. So I
strolled on in, sipping a coffee from the officers’ mess – the organisation
would probably grind to halt without caffeine - just as Captain Magenta was in
the middle of taking a call through the video communications system. From his
tone, I knew it was business. He flashed
me a huge grin of relief, and announced into the speaker, “Yes, sir, he has
just arrived. Certainly, sir. I will just put you through.” Magenta flicked a
switch. “Mr Bjorn Svenson, of Boston, Massachusetts, wishes to speak to you, as
you’re our acting commander, about a very urgent matter.” Blue’s
father… calling us. I nodded to
Magenta as I sat down at the control desk, bracing myself a little as I turned
to face the screen. “This is
Captain Grey,” I began, in as authoritive official tone as could be mustered
considering my confusion. “How can we …” “Well it’s
about time! I thought you were running a military base not a health spa,”
Svenson grumbled. I couldn’t
help but smile; that sounded so like White. “Yes, sir…
how may we be of service?” “It’s about
my wife and son… they’ve been kidnapped.” “Have you
notified the police?” “Yes, for
all the good that will do. So now I am notifying you.” “Well, with
all due respect, sir, this is police business. Spectrum is an anti-terrorist
organisation, we’re not really set up for these kind of incidents.” “I see.”
He took a deep breath, and exhaled with care as a vent to his rapidly rising
temper, glaring at me the whole time. “So sorry to have troubled you. I had just
imagined that Spectrum would take care of its own, or perhaps be interetested in
a potential terrorist plot. But obviously...” “Wait, that
isn’t what I meant at all,” I quickly put in, realising we were going to have to
see this through. “Spectrum will do
its best to assist you… So, what happened?” “I was
contacted, by these kidnappers,” Mr Svenson explained, as if I were a simpleton,
“to be told they have my wife and youngest son. I was allowed to speak to them.
They seem so… helpless.” For a
moment his bravado seemed to fall away, and beneath it, I could see the anxious
desperate husband and father that he was. “I was
supposed to fly out there this afternoon, to join them,” he continued. “I just
had to tie up some business at work, you know how it is.” “Where were
they staying?” “Golden
Palms, it’s a hotel resort, on Cozumel.” “I’m on
it,” Magenta muttered to me, tapping away at the computer. “Scarlet's still out
of it, but do you want me to get Blue?” I nodded,
then turned back to Mr Svenson. “Sir, I
understand you are very ‘high-ranking’ in the financial world, other than what
you’ve told me, could there be reasons why someone would do this? Have you
received any threats? Can you think of a rival with a big enough grudge, a disgruntled high-power client? Or anyone
else with a particular motive?” “I deal
with so many contracts, most of the competitors could, I suppose, have the means
and motivation… but I honestly cannot think of anything. Which is
why I had imagined terrorists may be involved, that they may use this to get to
Adam.” “I see.
I’ll send our best men out to Cozumel right away to invesigate… We’ll do all we
can.” “Yes, I’m sure you will,” Svenson said with
utmost sincerity. “Is there anything I can do?” “The best
thing would be to stay put, for now at least. We will keep you informed via
Spectrum Headquarters, Boston.” “Thank you,
Captain,” he said, with palpable relief. “Oh, there’s something else. My son,
Michael, was travelling with a friend of his, but I don’t know what’s happened
to her.” “We’ll look
into that too. What’s her name?” “Fae
Donaghue.”
Harmony
I watched
as Captain Ochre stalked around the room, looking for any sort of clue. It did
not seem to be progressing very well, but I could not say that. He would
probably not have listened; captains get very single-minded on missions. “Is it OK
if I go change?” Fae asked, probably just wanting to do something. “I must look
a sight; won’t be long.” “Yeah,
sure, just don’t destroy any evidence,” Ochre answered. “I won’t,
don’t worry.” I was
getting to like Fae a lot; she is much like Captain Magenta, in looks and
character. She is only young but I can see she was trying to be brave and
capable. Just then,
the maid came in; she seemed very shaken up by what had happened and how the
room now looked. Then she started to try and clean up.
“No,” Ochre
demanded. “No?” “The
evidence cannot be disturbed,” he explained slowly, the way Americans do with
people foreign to them. They think we must not understand at all, even though we
may learn English for a long time. “No tampering with the evidence, understand?” She stared
in utter incomprehension, uttering only ‘que?’ Then Fae
stepped forward, giving a moment’s thought then uttering something in Spanish.
The maid nodded, now understanding. “Ask her if
she saw anything,” Ochre instructed. I could tell he was not happy; frustrated
at not being able to communicate himself, but relieved someone else could. I
think he may have learnt some Spanish in school, but that was many years ago and
he has enough trouble with English sometimes. Fae
obliged, and listened carefully to the answers. “She says,
there were three men, with a lady and boy…” “We know
that already,” Ochre grumbled. “She was
cleaning the corridor, hid in a room, but could see a little. They went in the
elevator, up… If they had moved she would know, having been here all the time.”
Fae thought for a moment. “It must be in one of the penthouse suites, that’s the
only thing above here, and that elevator is the only way up.” “That’s
great.” Ochre grinned. “Gracia, señorita,” he said to the maid, and thus
probably exhausted his entire non-food related Spanish vocabulary.
“We should
call base,” I said, once Fae had gone off to freshen up. Ochre
concurred. “If they don’t know about this then they need to, and if they do,
then we’ll need to receive instructions.” “What are
we to do about Fae?” I asked. “Let her
tag along with us. She’s shaken but, if I was in her position, I’d want to be
doing something productive.” “But she is
civilian, and only young. It would not be right.” “You just
heard her with the maid. We could use that kinda help, until the others get
here, anyway. At least if she sticks around we can keep an eye on her, not risk
her going alone and pulling any amateur heroics. That and she’s a witness; they
might go after her. Especially if this is a plot against Spectrum by attacking
their families. Pat would kill me if anything happened to her.” I agreed,
but was still reluctant.
“Told you I
wouldn’t be long.” She wore a
plain fitted T-shirt, cropped jeans and tennis shoes. It was still a tourist
outfit but rather more practical than a dress. She is a bright girl. “So, what
now?” Fae asked. “Oh, and just for the record, I’m in this for the long haul.
Cal is my best friend, I can’t bail on him. Besides, this is sort of fun, sure
beats sunbathing at least.” I couldn’t
help but smile. “Said like
a true Spectrum agent,” Ochre noted. “In that case, do you promise to act with
honour, commitment, teamwork, courage and integrity? Thus upholding the ethos of
Spectrum?” “I
promise.” ”And just
so you’re clear,” Ochre added, “no heroics, you stay close, keep quiet, and go
to the safehouse as soon as we get back up. OK?” She was not
too impressed by that, but agreed to it.
Blue
It’s quite
ironic, don’t you think? That my father can spend so long hating and virtually
disowning me for taking a job with Spectrum, and then, the minute he gets in a
situation he can’t handle, we’re the first ones he calls. I get to
the control room and Magenta gives me a sympathetic look; he knows what’s going
on, can understand a bit of how I feel. But now wasn’t the time for pity. We had
a job to do. We sat
around the colonel’s desk for a briefing - of sorts. Magenta and I, with Green
at the comm. desk, doing his shift. “Should we
call Colonel White?” Green asked. “I don’t
think so,” Grey answered. “He’s meeting with the World President, then going on
vacation. So he said not to disturb him unless it was the Mysterons or something
really big, which at this stage it isn’t. So I don’t see that we can’t handle
this situation ourselves. Anyway, we don’t even know where he is right now, so
by the time he gets back, it might be over.” We all
agreed on that. “Have
Research come up with any leads?” Magenta asked. “Not yet,”
Green answered. “We’ll have to give them some more time, sir.” “Aren’t
Ochre and Harmony vacationing in Cozumel?” I asked, remembering Ochre mentioning
the fact at least a couple of dozen times. I had thought he made a curious
travelling companion for her, and vice versa, but it’s not my business to pry. “They’d
better be; if they lied on the leave application ...” Grey was interrupted by an
insistent bleeping from his desk. “Go ahead, Captain Ochre.” “We have a
hostage situation to report,” he declared, via the videophone. “Don’t tell
me,” Grey replied. “Mrs Bjorn Svenson and her youngest son have been kidnapped
from their hotel room at the Golden Palms Resort, Cozumel. Around 10:30 AM local
time. Suspects and motives so far unknown.” “Wow …
Are you psychic or something?” “No, it’s
just that Mr Svenson has been telling that to everyone in Spectrum who’ll
listen,” Magenta answered. “Oh, and you missed your standard check in, again. So
go on, wow me with an excuse.” “I got all
distracted by the situation at hand.” “And a
pretty girl, no doubt.” “Oh, yeah,
that too… It was actually in a professional capacity though, she’s our main
witness right now. Gentlemen, allow
me to introduce Ms Donaghue, who will be liaising with us during this
assignment.” Ochre ushered her forward. “Fae, come say hi.” At the
sight of his niece alive and well, Magenta’s relief was palpable. Then he
glanced at me and sobered, presumably feeling guilty that my family were still
in danger. “Umm, hi,”
Fae said. “I guess we’re awaiting further instruction, please advise.” To his
credit, Grey didn’t even blink. He did however give Ochre a pointed glare whilst
addressing him. “The local
SHQ should be sending someone to you…” “Captain
Morado,” Lieutenant Green chipped in. “Thank you,
Lieutenant. Yes, Morado should be with you shortly. He’s been briefed, so you’ll
be pretty much ready to go. Until then, I guess, you’ll have to sit tight.” Ochre
nodded. “Spectrum is Green.”
Magenta
There is an
unofficial mantra in Spectrum; that as diverse a group of people as we are, no
matter what happens, somebody will have shared your experiences. For Grey
and Ochre, they've both lived in Chicago, and like comparing notes on delis
there. For me and
Blue, well, in a weird way, we go way back.
We had been
born a literal ocean apart, and metaphorically, that distance has always
remained. He's the dashing son of parents so wealthy that they can cater to
almost any feasible whim, raised in a nice neighbourhood - or five - a model law-abiding citizen... whilst I
– well, er... I wasn't. Yet somehow our lives did overlap for a time, before
Spectrum obviously.
Once upon a
time, my family was quite normal; mother (Mam), father (Pappy), son (me,
obviously), daughter (my sister Caitlin). It's fair to say we lived in a pretty
rough neighbourhood; but we got by, kept our heads down, did well in school. Of
course, when things are going so well, something has to come like a wrecking
ball to ruin it; and suprisingly, for once it wasn't actually my doing. As my
great-grandparents would say: Caitlin 'got herself into trouble', assisted in
this endeavour by a rather obnoxious, acne-ridden specimen named Aidan.
Father-to-be naturally high-tailed it when the responsiblity started to loom
large, leaving my, at the time, teenage sister in the lurch. As a solution, my
mother proposed that she and Pa should adopt the baby. It was win-win all
around; Cait could see her child grow without the burden of single motherhood
weighing on her ambitions, and Ma could, in a round about way, have the third
child she had always wanted. Pa and I just went along with it, desperate for the
anguish to lift. The baby
made her way into the world on a crisp late November morning. My sister had
chosen a name, but quickly decided it wouldn't suit the baby, and as
acknowledgement of my support over those last months, allowed me the honour. So
I named her Fae Roisin, for the tiny, otherworldly creatures she so vividly
reminded me of, and a nod to our Gaelic heritage. From the
outset, Fae showed a marked preference for me, so I was naturally chosen to be
her Godfather. Not sure how good a job I made of raising her to be a Catholic,
but I have taught her to be skilled with computers (she's almost as good as me).
We always seemed to be happy and come out of life's trials unscathed; as if we
were each other's talisman.
The
Svensons came on the scene around the time when Fae was thirteen and had won a
scholarship to 'genius school' (her term for it, always punctuated with an eye
roll). I had offered to pay for her to go myself, but for some reason my parents
had a problem with the whole 'sending grandkid to school on mob money' aspect of
that suggestion. Fae, however, took a certain perverse delight in that fact,
and, probably in the interest of trying to keep up with all the other Mafia
kids, allowed a certain degree of embellishment regarding my actual
contribution. She was
always a grade ahead for her age. My parents had decided that starting school
aged six, instead of five, was an oversight of the American education system and
they set to personally rectify it - with a doctored birth certificate.
“How was
school?” "It was OK,
I met a boy today," Fae told me, from inside my refrigerator, a pistachio-green
hunk, handsome as it was absurd. I’m not that different from ‘real people’; I
lust after these luxury items too. The only difference is, while they had to
make do with the paltry white things, I paid cash for the top of the range model
and made a mini-party piece out of having an Aladdin’s cave of chilled beverages
in my apartment. For a
moment I didn’t know what to say. Not because Fae didn’t confide in me; she did
frequently and at length, even about things like ‘feminine hygiene products’
which surely she must have realised I’d know even less about than her. It was
more the realisation she was truly growing up; and for all my ability with
computers and crime syndicates, I was woefully unprepared to deal with that. “He’s just
a friend though,” she insisted and I was so grateful for that reprieve; for her
to be a girl just a while longer. “It’s OK, I
believe you.” She turned
around, pot of hummus in hand. Smiling because, yet again, I’d said the right
thing. “He’s
called Cal, it’s short for Michael.” The fridge door shut with a rubbery clap as
she sat down at the table opposite me.
“You’d like him, Pat,” she said with the certainty only teenagers
possess, as she dunked breadsticks into the hummus.
As it
happened, I did like this kid. He ended up a regular visitor to my apartment,
invited along by Fae. They’d mostly sit and watch movies together. I’ve never
really bought the whole ‘soul mates’ jig; but they did make me wonder, fitting
together so effortlessly. It was as if they really were made as a pair, unlikely
though the aesthetics were. He never talked about his family; I think ours was a
respite from his. I only realised his father was the head of Svencorp when he
let slip his dad was pissed about how the company had been stung for $2,000,000…
by me, as it happened - a very small fraction of which had gone towards the very
couch he was sitting on.
When Fae
was small, we used to sit together during thunderstorms, counting the seconds
between lightning and thunder, feeling like we were something greater,
untouchable. Maybe I was, running the city's largest crime syndicate and to all
intents and purposes getting away with it. Things seemed so much simpler back
then; easier, clearer, an adventure, yet there was also a sense of safety. I
seriously believed the law could never touch us. See, I
never regret having all that; my only regret is trading it in for the mess we
have now.
~oo0oo~
When we
arrived at the resort, one of the ground-crew showed us to the hotel suite. We
didn’t get the chance to go inside the Svensons’ rooms; they were being combed
through by the Spectrum forensics team. Instead, we were lead to the side room
Captain Morado had commandeered as an office. I’d read up
a little on Morado whilst on the plane. Dakota Garcia, born in Guatemala but
adopted at five months and raised by American parents. Throughout his life, he’d
maintained links with his heritage, so after a spell in the FBI, he was selected
to liaise between Spectrum units in the Americas. “Captains
Blue and Magenta reporting,” Blue stated, his tension and distress apparent in
his voice. “Ah, yes,
of course, good to meet you. It’s certainly something for us to see so much
action and garner the attentions of Cloudbase.” Morado was
dressed identically to us, aside from his uniform being aubergine-hued in all
the relevant places. As quickly as he established I was fluent in Spanish, I
realised that, when speaking English, he had a Michigan accent. It was a subtle
thing most people overlooked, but I’d come to be quite familiar with the nuances
of that particular dialect. For a very specific reason – an often infuriating
and usually ochre-clad reason.
“Nice of
you guys to finally show up,” Ochre declared, making his entrance and tramping
toward us. “Where’s Scarlet?” “Out of
it,” I replied, deliberately vague, seeing as we aren’t allowed to discuss the
intricacies of retrometabolism with anyone except senior staff. “Yeah, of
course.” Then he turned to Morado, to provide an explanation. “Captain Scarlet
is usually our field commander, he also moonlights as Blue's field partner. Just
like Magenta does for me. I guess he’ll be here too, at some point. He’s just,
uh, busy with a prior engagement.” “You must
have been very bad in a previous life,” Morado muttered to me in Spanish. “Oh, you
have no idea.” I do often
wonder if being stuck with Ochre is some form of divine punishment; he does
serve the purpose rather well, though he has been slacking off this past year or
so. After an
appraising look, Ochre noted, “You’re not exactly dressed for the climate.” “Someone
has to keep the standards up,” I bristled. Obviously
he had been off duty, and allowed to wear what he likes, but I really don’t see
that anyone who apparently hadn’t realised his shorts and shirt clashed was in a
position to give us fashion tips. “Well, I
was gonna get changed, but things have been kinda busy.” Blue shot a
warning look to the pair of us. Whatever petty squabbles we wanted to indulge in
could wait. For now we all had to pull together for the sake of the mission.
I honestly
hadn’t realised Morado was gone until he approached us with Fae. It was
almost a reflex, me pulling her into a tight embrace; I just needed to know
beyond any doubt she was here and safe. “He's my
uncle,” Fae stated, for Morado's benefit. “Let’s get
you home, baby,” I said, full of concern. She pulled
away, eyes blazing, and I knew for once I’d got it horribly wrong.
For a
moment, it seemed things stopped, I felt the world rattle to a halt, as it must
have done for Blue during the Cloudbase briefing. Then she composed herself. “No way.
I’m seeing this one through,” she stated. “It’s too
dangerous,” I insisted. “They need
me here. I can help.” “No, you
need to be safe.” “Safe?” she
demanded, composure cracking a little. “Oh sure, like there’s no chance I could
get mugged on the subway, or hit by a truck, or a million other disasters. Shit
happens, Pat, and you can’t save me from every little thing.” She turned
to Ochre; we both did. Both expecting his support despite our utterly opposing
views. I was relying on some ingrained instinct to win through, so that surely
he’d understand my duty to protect and care for Fae, that by extension it was
his duty too as a Spectrum officer. I don’t know quite what she was expecting. Ochre
sighed, realising the importance of his verdict: in a few words he could tear a
family apart. “Magenta,
why don’t you and Blue go get started tracing that call?” he suggested. We’d been
briefed that the kidnappers had made contact with Mr Svenson to make their
ransom demands. “Harmony,
would you please take Ms. Donague home," Blue said.
"You've
been a great help, seriously," Ochre began, pacifying Fae, "but Pat's right,
things are going to be getting complicated and dangerous from now on. There
isn't really much you can do. So it would be best if you went." "I could
probably help trace the call, Pat's taught me stuff like that. Couldn't you use
an extra hand?" Ochre
turned to me, asked for verification with just a look. "It's true,
about the computers," I grudgingly admitted, "but obviously she doesn’t have the
clearance, so that’ll be my job." "You don’t
need an assistant?" I realised Ochre was trying to soften the blow for Fae, for
her to see there was nothing she could do. "No, I’ll
manage." Blue had
found the nearest Spectrum safehouse, written down the address, and handed that
over. I knew that he had always quite liked Fae, and found her enthusiasm to
plunge into the task, which must surely be out of her depth, something
admirable. Maybe one day she’ll join Spectrum too, she’d be more than capable.
Though I doubt Mam will be best pleased; she’s generally a very nice lady, but
when it comes to the potential endangerment of her ‘babies’, she is an adversary
almost as terrifying as the Mysterons. It really wouldn’t be fair to take that
risk with Fae at this time, for either of their sakes. Fae sighed,
realising it was pointless to argue. She gathered together her things and left
with Chan.
Having seen
her off, I turned to Ochre. "I can’t remember the last time you were field
commander.” He nodded.
“Yeah, it has been a while. Especially since the Brit got his super-powers and
snagged all the good assignments.” “Would you
really want to trade?” “He can
keep the getting killed. But you have to admit, this is better than the
glorified babysitting we normally get stuck with.” Rick did
have a point. With his previous experience in the police corps, he’d made a
niche for himself, specialising in personal protection. And as his field
partner, I more often than not got roped into it too. “It’ll look
good on your resume, shows you can play well with others or something.” He grinned.
"You’re probably right... anyway I’m going to go slip into something
uncomfortable, and leave you to go do your geek thing. So, come on, let's get to
work. Hostages don't usually free themselves."
Cal
I read this
thing once, about how ‘birth order’ shapes your life, and figured maybe they
have a point. Take me:
I’m the youngest, my brothers and sister are 14, 12 and 8 years older than me,
respectively. Which meant that by the time I was born, Dad had already got his
‘heir and a spare’ and Mom had got a daughter to - I dunno - go shopping with,
or whatever they do all day - which left me to be, and do, pretty much whatever
I wanted, ‘cause they’d already used up most of their ‘giving-a-damn’ quota on
my siblings. For the
record: I don’t have a problem with that. It actually makes life pretty damn
sweet, most of the time. OK, Dad wasn’t exactly ecstatic about me taking
journalism in college, but he’s got over it - unlike Ad’s career choice. There
are downsides, though; like they’ve seen it all before, so it’s harder to
outsmart them, or even for them to be all that interested in what I do - and
you’re years behind on the family secrets.
You see,
you need to know that Adam got kidnapped when he was eight. It’s high on the
list of ‘that which we do not speak of’, which is almost of encyclopaedia
length. Anyway, it made the whole family totally paranoid about safety, which is
a total bummer when you’re a kid. They made up all these rules that seemed way
too much, so I yelled and fought over it. I used to spend most of my time
hanging out with Fae; we practically had squatters’ rights at her uncle’s
apartment. Mom used to go to pieces over that, worrying and all (about me being
in another state, that is – back then they didn't know Pat was a mobster, but I
guess that wouldn’t have helped). I might have only been fourteen
at the time, but I wasn’t a totally callous moron; if they’d actually have
explained, then I’d have got it; but nobody tells you anything in this fucking
family.
To be
honest, most of the kids in our school carried the burden of a family closet
full of skeletons. We’d all had the necessity of presenting a front, that we
were all part of some perfect family, so deeply ingrained it was almost part of
our DNA. Keep up appearances, never cause trouble, don’t attract attention, and
never ever go there - when it comes to ‘that which we do not speak of’.
So,
perhaps, what ultimately drew me to Fae was that, in a sea of kids bumbling
along as clueless as each other about how to live with a backdrop of murky
shadows, she already knew. She did it by compartmentalising, not seeing it as
‘her problem’, by seeing a loving relative where others could only see a
criminal. In that respect, she was everything I desperately wanted to be. We were
honest with each other, compared notes, in a way. By rights, I should have been
shocked at the stuff she said and did. Stuff like helping out with her uncle’s
accounts, which was actually money laundering. That she knew how to cover her
tracks in everything, so much so, that most of the time she didn’t even realise
she was doing it - like when she casually moved a rug to cover a stain on the
carpet, she once told me that she had seen it forming as Pat beat a man almost
to death (his principles of non-violence apparently don’t extend to those who
threaten his family). It wasn’t
long before I became an accomplice too; picking out names in case we needed to
go into witness protection, not wondering which faceless corporation that
casually given $20 bill had come from (indeed I started to feel it was OK,
because they wouldn’t miss it). Pat did his best to steer us onto the right
track, to keep us safe and for us not to turn out like him. He wasn’t a bad
example though, not the way he imagined. He’s always been a decent guy, honest
about the bad and good of the job whenever we asked. And really, we weren’t
about to get into the same situation, because our lives were so different. Yeah, that
constituted a welcome break from my family. It’s easy
to make assumptions that everything is just peachy in my family; because the
Svensons are law-abiding folk, active in the Lutheran community (I think Dad
pretty much funded the restoration project of our local church out of his own
pocket), such generally well-mannered, decent people. But I don’t walk into our
house and feel like it’s ‘home’, even though it obviously is. It’s too easy to
slip up, the repercussions too great. So I went to the Donaghues’ instead.
Everyone needs a place where they can just be themselves, and there should be no
need for apologies. I looked over at Mom, wondering what
she was thinking about to keep this whole charade from getting to her. This was
probably the first time in years I’d seen her without make-up on passed
breakfast time. She almost didn’t look like my mother, with all that gloss and
poise stripped away. “Mom.” She didn’t hear me at first; then
glanced round, eyes brimming. “Oh, babes, I’m so sorry,” she said. “For what?” ‘Cause, hey, how should I
know? It could be a million things. “This.” She gestured round the room we
were being held in; Spartan décor, windowless and lit only by a naked bulb. At
least they’d left us alone and quit shouting at us to be quiet. “It’s not your fault,” I said
automatically. Just as she always does to me during a family crisis. Is this
what it’s like to truly be an adult, taking on the duties always preformed by
others for you, to have the security of that stripped away? “We’re gonna be all
right, Mom. Dad knows what’s going on, he’ll do whatever needs doing and we’ll
get home. Then everything’ll be just fine.” “Yeah,” she said wearily, “until next
time.” She didn’t have to elaborate; I knew
what that meant.
Blue “If you don’t quit it, you’ll walk a
hole through the floor.” Ochre gave a genial shrug. “Or don’t, whatever. It’s a
semi-free world.” At that I did stop pacing. For the
most part, Ochre and I get along really well; we have our little fights, just
like friends always do, but he’s OK. Neither of us are the easiest people to get
to know or figure quite how to take, maybe that’s why we stick together? Along
with the whole obsession over planes thing, of course. Pat and Brad don’t know
enough to keep up. Paul’s a pilot too, but flying isn’t such an all consuming
thing for him, so he doesn’t quite understand. I don’t get it either, this
obession with being a pilot, let alone what compelled me to join Spectrum to
that end, fighting the good fight and all those cliches. I could have been a good financier,
like my father wanted to me to be. How much of that is down to inherent skill
and what comes from having been pretty much groomed for it since birth, is
irrelevant. Now it’s true that I do quite enjoy it, at times; there’s something
deeply satisfying about the almost balletic pattern of numbers – about having
everything fall into place – and, for once, there being clear-cut right and
wrong answers - but there is still a general theme of me having to be coerced
into the task. Whereas nobody ever has to ask me twice when it comes to flying
planes.
I’ve wanted to do that ever since I
can remember. Mom was the one who encouraged me. She tries not to let on, but I
have a feeling that I’m her favourite, although not to the degree Peter thinks
he’s the least loved; chronic case of middle-child syndrome there. His middle
name is Bjorn, after our father; it would have been mine, can’t remember why
they decided otherwise. Anyway, I ended up with Kristian, which nobody ever
spells right. Pete’s ended up doing everything I should have done, but the poor
geek can’t do it well enough to please our father, and some of that might be
just because Pete’s not me, and, hard as it is to believe at times, Dad still
sees me as the golden boy. I sometimes think Cal got the best deal; nobody bugs
him about that kind of crap. We’ve always got on well, Cal and I.
He was a great asset in getting dates, as caring for a kid makes you look all
‘in touch with your feelings’ or whatever else girls dig, and of course, I could
always send him back to Mom, so he didn’t actually cramp my style. In return, I
rather generously spared Cal from having to get the man-to-man talk from Dad,
and vice-versa, I guess. A teenager who thinks he knows everything, and a kid
who never quits asking questions is a pretty interesting combination. Most of
the time, it just didn’t occur to me that he shouldn’t have known those things;
at least, not in quite such detail. In the years since then, I’ve done my best
to rectify it and he seems to have survived. Ochre got restless and ambled over to
the computer. “Have you got anything?” he demanded. “Nope; but I have won seven out of two
hundred forty-five games of solitaire,” Magenta retorted with good-natured
aplomb, then added more sympathetically, “when I do, you’ll be the first to
know.” Needless to say, I had a companion
during my next two circuits of the room. “I’ve got something!” We both darted back over. Magenta rattled off an explanation,
which, with my knowledge of computer control, I was able to get the gist of.
Ochre, however, really floundered. “Again - in English, if you could,” he
pleaded. “I’ve managed to trace the call
between the ring leader and Mr Svenson.” At this point, Ochre perked up
considerably. He was happiest charging around following clues like a puppy with
ADHD. Not an unfamiliar concept, for me, from working with Scarlet, but he’s
generally less exuberant about it. I suppose that’s why Ochre got partnered with
Magenta, though sometimes you have to question the wisdom, as both favour a more
liberal interpretation of regulations. “Well, tell us then, where did it come
from?” I asked, also desperate to be pro-active, albeit for different reasons. Magenta sat back in his seat, a smile
tugging at his lips, as if waiting to deliver a punch line. He raised his index
finger ceiling-wards. “Directly above us, give or take a
floor or two.” “You’re kidding!” Ochre exclaimed.
“They must know we’re here. Probably listening in to everything we’re saying.” Magenta reached out and gripped
Ochre’s wrist, sparing us another session of the latter near tearing everything
apart. “If they were, you’d have found the bugs by now,” Magenta reasoned
gently. Not having seen them work together
like this before, I was surprised that he acted as the ‘voice of reason’. Then
again, it was the recurring theme of everyone underestimating Magenta. Ochre wasn’t going to drop it, though. “Well, if they’re right here, then why
aren’t we, y’know, doing something about it?” “They could have moved on,” I noted,
apparently being incapable of just accepting good news. “No, we’ve got guards at every
possible exit point. All of them reported nothing. So I guess that’s out,”
Morado insisted. “Goddamn it, why are we all just
sitting here?” Ochre grumbled, gulping down the last of the coffee Chan had made
for us before she had left to take Fae to the safehouse. My epaulettes flashed red, so I
answered the call. “Hi, Scarlet, good to have you back
with us.” “Hmm, quite. I sensed there was
something rather important going on for you not to be around when I woke up.” “Yeah, sorry about that, Paul.” “Oh, for goodness sake, Adam, you’ve
enough to worry about without thinking you’ve hurt my feelings. Which, for the
record, you haven’t.” I managed to smile. “Anyway,” Scarlet continued, “during
the last three hours of me being sat on my arse because somebody here won’t take
a hint that I’ve fully recovered, we have managed to accumulate some rather
useful information.” “That’s great, go on.” “Right. Word from our informants is
that these kidnappers are hired mercenaries, and the research department has
found some talk on the street of a plot against the Svensons. Which would tie up
with the theory that this is ultimately the work of a SvenCorp client with a
grudge, and a carefully planned op. We’ve run that CCTV footage Morado sent us
and have been able to identify the ring leader as one Jean Dupont, which is
probably an alias. Either way, he is wanted for… well, for pretty much
everything… So upon capture, he’s to be extradited to France.” “They’re probably sharpening their
guillotine as we speak,” Ochre quipped. “… As per directive of the World
President,” Scarlet continued, which was enough to declare the matter
non-negotiable. It had taken a lot for the World President to join Scarlet’s fan
club, owing to the small detail of Paul trying to kill him under Mysteron
influence, so Scarlet was understandably keen not to blow it. “Oh - this detail I particularly liked,”
Scarlet said with a sense of amusement. “It seems they have a website. In
English, no less.” Though Scarlet gave the URL, Ochre
took it upon himself to offer suggested names: ‘we’llkidnapsomeone4u.com’,
‘mercenaries-r-us’ and such like. I was tempted to snap at him for trivialising
the issue, but let it go, as that was probably a coping strategy, or something. “Now, would you like the good news or
bad news first?” Scarlet inquired. “Bad news,” Magenta replied, “then we
can end on a high.” “Fair enough. Green has tried to hack
the site, but naturally it’s completely encrypted - even beyond what he’s
capable of getting into.” “So, umm, what’s the good news?” I could tell Scarlet was grinning as
he answered. “Well, it must indeed be a very small world, because the encryption
programs were created by ‘the Syndicate’ of New York.” Magenta sighed. “All right, I’m on
it.” “You leave ‘em alone for two years and
they frigging sell out on you,” Ochre tutted. “Something like that; though I’ve no
idea how they got involved with the French.” “Well, you have,” Ochre noted.
“Working with Destiny and all. Though somehow I doubt they’ve branched out into
‘horizontal international relations’.” “That is mere unfounded speculation,”
Magenta insisted, glaring at Ochre but otherwise refusing to comment. “Speaking of Destiny, although not in
that context,” I said to Scarlet,“is Grey recalling her from her shopping
expedition?” “Unfortunately for the rest of us,
yes,” he answered. “You know how upset she gets if her shopping is curtailed,
but needs must. Melody has been trying to translate, but her French really isn’t
up to par, and no other French speakers here have the necessary level of
clearance. So looks like we will need Destiny’s bilingual services after all…
Well, that’s about it for now. Shall keep you informed of any new developments,
and be with you as soon as Fawn lets me go.” “SIG. Blue out.” “Bilingual services, eh?” Ochre
smirked. “Well, that puts an interesting slant on ‘taking one for the team’.” “That is not what he meant and you
know it,” Magenta snapped. “So get you mind out of the gutter and onto the task
at hand.” “SIG.” Ochre rolled his eyes like a
petulant teen. When Pat got into one of those moods
it was best not to argue. After a few minutes, Green radioed
through some leads for us to follow up. So for a while we fell into peaceful and
productive silence, waiting for Scarlet to arrive, so we could finally get some
action.
Symphony
I
have to level with you, and admit that, before this assignment, I had no idea
what being a ‘wealthy financier’ entailed, beyond the glaringly obvious.
Honestly though, does the average person have that much of a clue? So
really, it’s amazing what you can learn on the job; because I now know more
about Mr Bjorn Stefan Svenson’s business activities that he’d probably be
willing to admit to his shareholders. Or at least, to his wife, but then, if my
husband was head of SvenCorp, I probably wouldn’t listen beyond the briefest
answers to ‘how was work, dear?’
Not that I’m an authority on Mr and Mrs ‘head of SvenCorp’, but I do know their
eldest son is a damn good kisser.
That’s not why I’m up to my eyeballs in SvenCorp, of course.
This assignment brings back memories of when I was in the Universal Secret
Service, specialising in industrial espionage. Now don’t get me wrong, I loved
that job, though I’m also starting to remember why I gave it up. Paperwork is
fine in small doses; I can tuck myself into a corner and play music through
headphones, to make the time go faster, but I’d much rather fly a plane than be
stuck at a desk. Guess Adam and I have that in common.
“How’s it going, Symphony?” I
smiled at Brad, my knight in grey tunic bearing fresh coffee and lunch.
“Either SvenCorp is some last bastion of totally ethical business conduct, or…” I
stopped, but Grey’s smirk compelled me to finish.
“Or Svenson is lying somewhere along the line.” I sighed. “I don’t know how the other guys are doing, but there’s
nothing here. I‘ve been going over this stuff for hours and just can’t find a
single clue as to why this is happening.” He
nodded. “Seems you’re not the only one hitting dead ends.”
“Great, that’s really comforting.”
For a moment I didn’t say any more; I couldn’t anyway, while eating the
sandwiches Brad had brought. He didn’t eat fish himself, claiming to have given
it up for Lent years ago and forgot to take it back up; but he knew I couldn’t
get enough of the tuna mayo sandwiches our galley made.
“We’ve got a real lousy deal, haven’t we?” I said. “Seriously, being stuck in
this place, while the other guys are swanning around in some fancy as heck
resort. That totally sucks.”
“Oh, I doubt they’ll be having too great a time.” Brad smirked. “Especially
Ochre, being field commander and having to boss Scarlet around for once.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he’s real cut up about that.” “I
know, but then Ochre was first on the scene and has some expertise in this
situation. They’ll sort it out between them.” Grey pulled up a chair and sat down beside to my desk. “You
get the feeling we’re missing something huge here?”
“Like the motive?”
“Exactly, and I figure two heads are better than one; so would you be up for
some brainstorming?”
“Sure.” I dug through the pile of music discs on my desk. “Would country be OK?”
“You know I’d rather rip out my own eardrums than listen to that kind of music,”
he teased.
The guys rib me so much over that, but I don’t care. I grew up listening to the
classics and early 21st Century stuff (Mom’s a fan too), so it serves
as a nice reminder of home. They don’t mind it that much really, just exaggerate
to make a point, like they do with how bad Adam’s singing is.
“Well, too bad, I don’t have anything else.” So I got the music going, setting
the volume to a suitable ‘background’ level.
Apparently, we needed to go round in circles for awhile first. About ready to
quit with the frustrations of getting nowhere, I glanced up the news channel
which was on constantly; as the latest bulletin gave way to a commercial break,
the SvenCorp name and logo attracted my attention. What’d yah know, they do
personal loans, now.
It’s a stupid commercial; I just couldn’t believe that they would spout all this
bull about being a ‘family company’, as if everything was just peachy. Oh sure,
maybe it is - if you tow the line, but decide not to take up the family trade
and it’s a whole other story. I
get far more riled about it than Adam does himself these days, which is true
about most other things, I guess. He’s probably gotten used to it, worn down by
the futility of fighting; but you can see he’s got his daddy’s stubborn streak.
He’s not gonna go backing down, if he figures it’s worth the fight.
“Have you looked at the clients who are in debt to SvenCorp?” Grey asked,
looking like he’d had a spark of inspiration. “If they’ve a grudge against the
company for putting them in the red, they might be resorting to these drastic
measures, having tried to get the company to cut them some slack, but not got
anywhere.”
I gave it
some thought. “That’d sure make sense,” I agreed. “Being stubborn and a stickler
for protocol does seem a reoccurring trait in said company’s family.” “Surely, you aren’t referring to Blue?” Grey teased.
“Yeah, especially him.” I started taping in commands to enable a search. “How
much was the ransom for?”
“34.6 million dollars.” My
jaw nearly dropped clean to the floor.
“Apparently, Mr Svenson really could afford to pay that,” Grey said simply. “It
might take a fair chunk out of the holiday fund, but they’d get by.”
“Wow… just wow. And to think I, a humble li’l country girl, am gonna be marrying
into such high society. It’s kinda like that old movie, y’know, the one with
Audrey Hepburn.”
“’My Fair Lady’,” he answered. “And, hmm, no, I’m not really seeing it.”
“Whatever… OK, well, that’s a pretty random number, and probably is close to the
debit Mr X has mounted up. So I’ll search through the clients who owe SvenCorp,
allowing a margin of ten million either way.”
“What makes you think it’s a Mr X?”
“All these CEOs are guys. There are women, but they’ve paid their bills on time…
and I’ll leave it at that.”
“Fair enough, I’m going to get some coffee. Shout if you find something
suspicious.”
It
didn’t take long.
“Grey, I’ve got it.”
He’d been across the room but came over soon as I yelled.
“There’s this textile company in France; they owe SvenCorp 29.4 million. So all
together, the ransom would pay off the debit, fees for the mercenaries, and
there would be a bit left over for their own holiday fund.”
“Yes, but they aren’t the only company owing sums like that,” Grey noted
sceptically.
“True, but the thing is this company has been in financial trouble before.” I
skimmed the page trying to find the relevant information. “They went to SvenCorp
ten years ago and were given a loan by Stefan Svenson, which helped to keep them
afloat. Then Nice Mr Svenson died and Adam’s dad took over SvenCorp. Anyway, the
company struggled again, but Mean Mr Svenson wasn’t prepared to renegotiate the
contract to cut the repayments or up the timeframe.”
“Which proved difficult for said textile people.”
“Yup. That nearly put them under three years ago,” I read off the screen. “Until
things perked up a bit when the French fashion industry also got it back
together. But now the French textile industry is struggling to compete with the
cheaper prices offered by companies overseas… See, I do pay attention when Ads
makes comments about the state of the foreign market. Well, sometimes.”
“So, you think this latest downturn in the market is proving just enough to push
them over the edge,” Grey said, still not exactly convinced.
“Exactly.” I was practically bouncing in the seat, knowing in my gut this was
‘the one’.
“Good work. Who’s the CEO?” I
gave the answer casually, while tapping it into the Spectrum database.
You know all those conspiracy theorists who claim the government is watching
everyone, monitoring all forms of communication, and has every person’s details
on some super-computer network, meaning they’re able to swoop in at a moment’s
notice? Well, for Spectrum, it’s not too far from true.
“That can’t be …” Grey noted uncomfortably. “Please, tell me it’s a
coincidence.”
“I’d like to,” I replied, “but, sorry… she must be his daughter.”
They’d never outright said anything on the matter, but I’d known all along that
there was ‘something’ going on between Grey and the lady in question. He gave it
away more than she did. The guys like to think they are so subtle, but they
forget most of us girls are trained in special intelligence too; and, for
someone ordinarily reserved, Grey is a totally hopeless romantic and couldn’t be
any more blatant about it, short of a tattoo across his forehead.
It’s not that I didn’t feel terrible too; she is one of my best
friends. I know the family wasn’t exactly close, but it would be so heartless to
expect her to put aside those emotions and bring him in. “I
know you don’t want to,” Grey said, as if he knew what I was thinking, “but
there’s no one else who could do it. Short of totally involving the local
Spectrum HQ, and that’d be more trouble than it’s worth… Karen, don’t look at me
like that. Nobody here is under any
illusions about the sacrifices this job can entail. We wouldn’t be here if we
couldn’t put aside our personal feelings to achieve the goal.” I
stared at him. “You’re asking her
to rip her own family apart.” He
softened a little. “Whilst it’s true on occasion we have to set aside our
attachments, equally we sometimes have to act on them. As a unit, I don’t
believe we could function if we didn’t have the loyalty we do, that anyone of us
would be prepared to take a bullet for any colleague. Metaphorically or
otherwise. So no, Symphony, I’m not going to ask her to do this. I’m asking
you.”
It
wasn’t even really a request; the Commander of Cloudbase tells us to jump and we
damn well ask ‘how high’.
“Yes, I’ll do it,” I said, but a doubt crept it. “I don’t speak French though,
what if he isn’t fluent in English?” “I
would have said take Ochre, but he’s busy …”
“As in Rick - the guy so multilingual that when Harmony greets him in Japanese
he responds with ‘bless you’?”
Grey allowed a slight smile in response.
“Yes, him… actually, it’s more Ochre’s police experience than linguistic
abilities that are a factor here,” he pointed out. “But of course that’s all
theoretical. So I guess you’ll have to take along someone from Spectrum Paris.” I
waited while Grey made the relevant call to the Paris headquarters. “I’m sure you’ll manage just fine, but Captain Auburn will
accompany you. Now hurry up. He’ll be waiting for you at Orly Airport.” I
took down the address, sighed and stood up. Then I declared: “This is a great job.”
“Well, I like to think so,” Grey replied cheerfully.
“Actually, I’m just reminding myself.”
Scarlet
The summer of ’69 has thus far been a very long hot one. And so, if the guests
at the Golden Palms are anything to go by, sunbathing is seemingly still a very
popular pastime. I have never understood why people feel a compulsion to lie out
in the sun slowly roasting themselves, particularly when they often end up
overcooked. But still, now was not the time for such thoughts; we had a job to
do.
The local Spectrum personnel, apparently giddy with their new found importance,
made a very thorough job of making sure I was indeed who I said I was.
They had probably considered getting out the Mysteron detector too, but, for
now, they were keeping out of it, and Ochre was able to intervene; which was a
relief, because the inevitable result would have caused all hell to break loose.
“Ah, Scarlet, nice of you to show up,” he told me. “Does this mean I have to
hand over the mantle of command to your good self?”
“Why? By all accounts you’re doing a good job.”
“Nice of you to say so.” As we walked to our impromptu command post he brought me up
to speed on the latest developments.
“Grey told me they’ve traced the guy who hired these goons, to just outside
Paris,” Ochre elaborated. “So Symphony is headed there to bring him in.”
“That’s great to be making such progress; hopefully, things will be as
productive our end.”
Once Morado and I had made our introductions, we went through the plan of
action, with a large blueprint of the building spread out on the table.
“My men will cover you from the adjacent buildings and other exits,” Morado
stated, pointing out such vantage points on a hastily drawn diagram. “Are you
going to want a sniper team?”
“Yes,” I answered. “It would serve as a good back up.”
Then I stopped remembering that, not being field commander, it wasn’t my place
to make that decision.
“Scarlet’s right,” Ochre agreed. “How soon can you have the teams in place?”
Morado made the call, organising the team, then returned to us. “Then we’ll go in, as soon as possible for the element of
surprise,” Blue stated. “It’s mostly storage and such up there, so we won’t have
to worry about any guests getting in the way.”
“So, have you been talking to them?” I asked. “No,” Magenta said. “But they have been in contact with Mr
Svenson to arrange payment of the ransom. He should be arriving within the hour
with the money… These guys are definitely pros, and probably have their fees and
reputation riding on delivering exactly what their sponsor demands. They’ve
nothing to lose, and that makes them all the more deadly. But as far as we can
tell, they don’t know Spectrum is onto them, or that their location is known. So
we have that advantage.”
“Right, well in that case,” I began, “Magenta and Morado you take the two
windows, coming in at a diagonal. With flash bangs for distraction, take cover,
then shoot to kill.”
“Obviously,” Morado said, “we can’t take risks. You can count on us, Captain.”
In
these kind of situations, you require absolute trust in your colleagues, and
obviously that doesn’t come easily. I was tempted to keep Morado out of this,
but we couldn’t afford to lose such man power. Perhaps I was just being unfair
doubting him, because I hadn’t worked with him before. After all, his
credentials were good. “Is that even wise?” Ochre said. “Considering the hostages
could easily get caught in the crossfire or used as shields. It should be our
first priority to ensure their safety. It’d make more sense to gas the room
first.”
“Well obviously, what I was going to say is shoot if faced with resistance.
We’re all professional enough to manage that.”
“Either way we’re going to need to get someone to go in first,” Blue said,
“before the rest of the crew, to draw their attention, and ensure the hostages
safety.”
“Through the skylight then,” I answered, poring over the plans. “They’ll have to be dropped from a
helicopter.” I looked up sharply. “Which obviously will be my job.”
“That’s good of you to volunteer,” Ochre said casually. I don’t think he was
very impressed that I was taking charge out of habit.
“Do I have a choice?”
It is so frustrating at times being ‘the one’. I’d only just
recovered from my last run-in with the Reaper and wasn’t all that keen on having
two in as many days. Sometimes, I just wanted a break from my own indestructible
skin; for someone else to shoulder the burden.
“Ah yes, you’re the Captain Scarlet,”
Morado declared. “You are quite a legend in Spectrum. They say you cannot be
killed.”
“Of course I can,” I retorted, which was entirely true. “I’m just… luckier than
most.”
“I’d say we’re the lucky ones for having you around,” Blue put in, effortlessly
diffusing the tension. “So, you gonna do it, Paul?” On
hearing my first name, so casually used, I instantly scolded
myself for being so selfish. Of course, I hadn’t chosen to have these abilities,
no one in their right mind would, but I was bloody well stuck with them; and if
it meant having to take a bullet so that a colleague would not need to die, then
I’ll gladly step up and take it. And of course, this is Blue’s family we’re
talking about; I didn’t know them all that well but they had been very good to
me, and I know Adam would do the same if our roles were reversed. “Only if you’re flying, Blue-Boy.” He
grinned. “Sure. I couldn’t let you
have all the fun.”
I
looked round then, Ochre was still looking over the plans; his brow etched with
concentration.
“What are these skylights made of, then?” he asked no one in particular. “Just
regular see-through glass?”
Nobody seemed to have a definitive answer.
“We’ll need to devise a Plan B then, in case things aren’t exactly what we
expect.”
“Of course,” I said. And stepped closer so that we could discuss the matter.
Being to all intents and purposes stranded at an outpost, it was unsurprising
that, in addition to being deprived of the action, it seemed Cozumel was also
woefully under-equipped. It was a good thing their only SPV has
jetpacks, and Morado did manage to acquire respirators with anti-flare lens, and
aforementioned flash bangs. I had no idea how, and didn’t think to ask, I was
just grateful he did. Unfortunately, our transport problem wasn’t so easy to
resolve.
I
gritted my teeth and vented a sigh of frustration. Of course the Spectrum
Passenger Jets and helicopters we had arrived on were in perfect working order.
But in this situation, they would draw too much attention, and show from the
outset that Spectrum was involved; which was the last thing we wanted. We would
have to requisition civilian craft; but we had looked into that and found there
weren’t any suitable ready ones this side of Cancun.
“Actually, Mr Svenson will be here soon, we could probably use his chopper,”
Magenta said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
“This is the man who hates Spectrum because we stole his precious baby,” Ochre
pointed out. “I somehow doubt he’ll just hand it over with a full tank.” It
was then that he glanced up, just as I noticed the low, whirring noise
approaching us from behind. It wasn’t long before I recognised the vibrant blue
paintwork, accented with canary yellow. Definitely not a colour scheme I’d have
chosen, but I understood why they went for it: they were the colours of the
Svensons’ ancestors’ fatherland’s flag.
“Well, we don’t have any other options if we want to move fast,” I said. “And
he’s understandably desperate to ensure his family’s safety, perhaps that will
inspire him to look more kindly on us than usual.”
The SvenCorp helicopter came down with an unceremonious bump - at which Blue
visibly winced, as he hated to see anyone fly badly - revealing that the pilot
was Mr SvenCorp himself. Yes, I really did think of Bjorn Svenson in those
terms; somehow they seemed more fitting than just his name, and certainly more
than ‘Adam’s Dad’.
“Who’s in charge here?” he demanded, alighting from the aircraft.
Ochre stepped forward, intent on making suitable introductions; but by then, Mr
Svenson had noticed Blue and headed straight for his son.
“Real family affair this, isn’t it?” Ochre muttered.
If
Mr Svenson has one apparent redeeming quality, it is an impeccable sense of
decorum. I knew full well how he despised his eldest son’s career choice, and
here it was literally staring him in the face, yet he didn’t even blink.
“Hello Dad. Have you spoken to Mom
and Michael? How are they?” Blue asked. “And you?” he added, almost as an
afterthought.
Until then, I honestly hadn’t known the name of Blue’s youngest brother; well, I
knew he was called Cal, but suspected that wasn’t what was on his birth
certificate.
“I spoke to them about an hour ago, while arrangements were
made. They’re shaken, obviously, but otherwise seem to be holding up well. The
kidnappers assure us they are unharmed.”
“And you believe them?” Blue added something on the end, which I took to be
something rather unflattering, in Swedish.
“We don’t have a choice.” Mr Svenson checked his watch. “Now, if you don’t mind,
we need to get on and resolve this situation. It is only an hour until I am to
make the drop.”
“We are aware of that. Captain Magenta has been monitoring communications,” I
explained. “It’s a straightforward drop; just got to this place.” I showed him
on the map of the hotel gardens. “Leave the case under the bench, then get out
of there. Dupont, the man who gave you the instructions, will collect it after
you leave. Are you ready?” I added, as an afterthought. “As I could ever be,” Mr Svenson pulled a large,
black-leather briefcase from under the passenger seat. “I have the money right
here.” He
must have noticed my reaction, and looked me in the eye. “Captain, I might have the reputation of a ruthless
financier. In fact, I’m aware that
I deserve that reputation. But
money is just money – a tool to me.
It can be won or lost at the turn of fate; it is replaceable. But my family, my wife and children, they are much more
precious to me. I will not risk
their lives for money, and will not let anything stand in the way of their
well-being.” I
couldn’t help glancing at Adam, wondering how he would react to that statement,
seeing how he had become estranged from his father for not considering money, or
at least a career in finance, to be vital. He made no comment, and if anything,
seemed to have a glimmer of new found respect for his father.
“We’ll need to borrow the helicopter.” Blue approached the aircraft. “Is it
juiced up and ready to go?”
“Yes. Yes, the tank is at least three quarters full.” “OK.” Ochre turned to address the other captains. “Magenta, Morado, have your men in
position. Blue, drop Scarlet as soon as you get the word… good luck.”
“SIG, Captain.”
With them gone, he turned to address me.
“Scarlet, having looked over the plan, I doubt a roof landing will be possible.
So you’ll need the jet pack from the SPV and be ready to go in, as soon as
Magenta signals.” I
collected the standard issue jet pack from the SPV; and returned to find Mr
Svenson in the co-pilot’s seat of the helicopter. I was to be seated in the
back, and by ‘seated’ - I mean squished into a corner amongst what appeared to
be holdalls and sporting paraphernalia; it seemed these aircraft were indeed
meant for two.
“Will you be all right in there?” Svenson asked, to be polite more than
anything.
“Well, you could say that I’ve survived worse.”
Yes, I’m sure you do all the time … You’re Paul, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered, “but
when I’m in uniform, it’s Captain Scarlet, if you please, sir.”
“Of course,” he smiled. “I have heard
a lot about you; you’ll have to come to dinner at our home, sometime, so that we
may have a proper introduction.”
“Likewise, sir.” Perhaps then we would both be able to look beyond each other’s
respective images built from anecdote and reputation. I had been to their home,
once, but Mr Svenson had been away on business. It’s a very impressive place.
I’m sure Brad would stowaway with us if he found out the Svenson’s had a heated
Olympic-sized swimming pool. By
then, Blue had changed out of his uniform into casual clothing, then made his
pre-flight checks and clambered into the pilot’s seat beside me. “Once I drop you off, I’ll swing back round so Dad can hand
over the ransom,” Blue explained, with a hint of distaste for the thought. “Just
holler if you need anything… Ready to get this party started?” Mr
Svenson and I gave our agreement, and with that, we lifted off, watching the
resort seemingly shrink to the size of a dolls house before we gracefully
swooped towards our destination.
For all this talk of my heroism, of being able to survive and be stronger for
adversity, I only have to look at Blue to feel humbled. He is the real hero of
the two of us, for doing all this without the safety net of retrometabolism, not
to mention putting up with me. |
Bjorn I knew this day would come
when, once and for all, I would have to confront this choice of Adam’s; though I
had not expected it to be under such circumstances. It is my sincere belief that
God holds a purpose for all of us; we are born into this world assigned a fate,
a destiny, if you will. For some people, it is apparent from a young age; such
was the case for me. The Svenson financial dynasty stretches back centuries, and
seemingly looked secure as far into the future. My father had been rather
liberal, letting us decide our own path, but I knew in my heart that it was my
duty to play my part in our dynasty. So I toiled for years with no let up, to
prove my worth and advance through the company by my own merit alone. Of course,
Papa was proud of me, even more so when I fathered his first
grandson, who, as tradition dictated, would inherit his assets and secure the
company’s future. We were both so proud of Adam. He had been such a good baby,
amiable, handsome, and hitting his milestones ahead of his peers. Then as a
child, he discovered his own will, became fascinated by flight, and never looked
back. Things were never so good after that. Fortunately, my wife and I
had another boy: Peter Bjorn. It was as if God had given me another chance, a
way to ensure the company’s future. Perhaps it was, but, like a stubborn fool, I
failed to fully realise that Peter was a person in his own right – and not just
a rerun of his older brother – and that lead to further complications.
Michael, on the other hand – well, the irony is, I could well believe him to be
a rerun of Adam; they are so alike in many ways.
They have different talents, of course, but their characters are so similar. By now, I had learned my lesson; I don’t
try to shape his path. And, though
they may not see it, in the end, we did the right thing by our boys. The elder two needed
direction – a little opposition to his strong will taught Adam how to fight, and
Peter’s longing for approval gave him a purpose in life and he found a niche
where he can succeed, adequately.
Michael – he was left to find his own way, and he has done so – even if I
despair of him sometimes, such as when he insists on using that childish
nickname. I can’t even remember who started calling him that – or why – but I
refuse to. We really should have had
four girls; Rebecca has been nowhere near as much trouble. Seems to me girls
usually aren’t, though; the only challenge is to make money faster than they can
spend it. She’s rather a good catch, if I say so myself, finding a worthy
husband to love and care for her shouldn’t prove too difficult. Of course, I watch
the news and know as much about Spectrum’s activities as any citizen is entitled
to. It all seems rather exciting and glamorous; at times, I almost wish I was
seeing the world and saving the day, rather than be stuck in an office. I’d be
utterly useless though, and the uniforms would do my middle-age spread no
favours. I must say, Adam looks rather dashing in his; it compliments his
colouring perfectly. “Ready?” he asked Scarlet, as
we hovered over the roof. “As I’ll ever be.” “Right, go then, we don’t
have much time.” “Good luck,” I called. Scarlet gave us both a thumbs
up, then went to open the hatch at the side of the chopper. It held fast, as I
suddenly remembered it was meant to. When my children were young, I had
understandably been concerned for their safety and ensured the doors could not
be opened in the air. So it was necessary for Adam to land, and then open the
door for his colleague. I put my head out of the door
to wish him good luck; I rather like this headstrong competent friend of Adam’s.
It didn’t go down very well, they must think me a reckless old fool for
literally risking my neck. Maybe I am.
“Do you normally work
together?” I asked Adam, once we were on our way again. “Yeah, pretty much all the
time. We’re field partners and all,” he said, and I cursed myself for not taking
the trouble to know something so integral to my son’s life. Ever since I’d heard of the
terrible fate that had befallen my wife and youngest son, I had been plagued
with paranoia that this was somehow my fault. They had said it wasn’t, when Adam
was taken as a child, but it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t argued with him,
hadn’t made it possible for him to run away, hadn’t let him think – even for a
moment - that I didn’t care. Because of course I do, he is my son. Which is why
it hurt so much when he turned his back on us - his family – and decided what
his forefathers had carved out wasn’t worthy of him. Well, that’s how I thought
of it at the time. I might have
expected Rebecca or Michael to behave in such a flighty way – I knew they’d come
to their senses soon enough – but Adam? He was always the most serious and
committed of them all – I just never realised he wasn’t committed to this
family’s particular path; which perhaps made it harder to bear: I knew he was
gone forever. Only he hadn’t really turned his back on us, of course; he never
had, despite my foolish efforts to push him away. It seemed the only thing I
could do now was to pray, try to haggle with God. If Sarah and Michael are
brought safely home, then I shall be able to forgive Adam. Of course, I should
be able to forgive him regardless, but these things are not always so simple. We touched down as close as
possible to where the meeting had been agreed. “Thank you,” I told him. “For what?” “Everything,” I replied. “Yeah, well, we’re not done
yet.” Adam looked around, assessing the surroundings, finding the best way to
put Spectrum’s plan into action. “I
still don’t think paying the ransom is a good idea,” he said. “Once they’ve got
what they want, what’s to stop them… We do not negotiate with terrorists, and
that includes paying ransoms.” “And you wouldn’t, to save
your mother’s life?” He hesitated, for a moment. “How many hostage situations
have you dealt with?” he asked. One, I wanted to say, but I knew that wouldn’t count in his eyes. “None,” I answered. “So we follow the plan,
that’s what will guarantee the best outcome... You can trust us. Between us
we’ve done this enough to be prepared.” “I know, I’m not going to be
stupid and ruin their chances.” “Sure,” he said softly. And
perhaps, if we were closer, he may have offered some comfort. Instead he runs
through again what I am to do; then seems to melt into the trees, to observe. It was not a very long wait
until the man I was to meet with – whom, I was told, was named Dupont –
appeared. He looked
younger than I expected, but maybe that is just me getting old. He was scruffy too, but in that artful
way so fashionable with youngsters. “That’s him,” Adam told me
via the earpiece they had we wear. “Go out there and hand over the case.” I did not offer any
resistance to that. It was easier to do than I had anticipated. I concentrated on thinking of Adam as a
Spectrum officer doing his job, rather than my own connection to him. My task was so simple; to
deposit the briefcase of money under a bench. Just put the case down, and walk
back the way I came. It seemed so easy, but I was almost overcome with nerves.
Having deposited the case, I then found I just couldn’t leave. Dupont didn’t seem to mind my
presence. He casually came over,
took the case, opened it and inspected the contents. “It’s real money,” he
confirmed. “A pity, almost. I was rather hoping to have the satisfaction of
killing them. Your boy first, to stamp out the vermin before they grow.” I didn’t doubt for a moment
that he was serious; maintaining my composure was the hardest thing, but I felt
compelled to keep him talking. “So what now, are you going
to let them go?” I demanded. “After all, you have the money.” Dupont shrugged. “Maybe yes, maybe non,” he answered casually. “I am just following instructions from
the man who hired me; and he was not so particular about them… He did, however,
make it clear what should be done with you - should you be stupid enough to get
into this exact situation.” They say when you are about
to die your life flashes before you. To be honest, I do not know if that is
true. When Dupont pulled the gun on me, everything seemed to happen in a
sickening slow-motion, like an underwater ballet. Whatever thoughts I’d had were
lost in that oblivion. Not even
when I heard the gun crack with fire, and in an instant felt the slug tearing
into my flesh. With the shock and adrenaline, I didn’t feel any pain for a
moment, then it hit like a wall. I don’t know how I remained on my feet. I heard
shouting, another shot fired, a heavy thud to the ground as Dupont toppled like
a fallen tree. Then everything went sickeningly silent as Adam slowly
approached, his gun drawn and still smoking. “What happened, is he dead?”
I asked, looking down, strangely fascinated by the spreading crimson stain
across Dupont’s back, emanating from two expertly placed burgundy pockmarks, as
he lay, face down on the grass. Adam blew a sigh,
re-holstering the gun. “Yes, Dad, he’s dead.” I was horrified, to have
witnessed a man, my own son, kill another. I turned to him, intent on saying
something, to make sense of this situation. He killed a man… for me, to save his
family. “Dad, you’re hurt,” Adam began. “Here, let me
help you.” At the moment, I dared to
look down to acknowledge the source of my pain, and my legs buckled as I
realised blood was pouring from my shoulder.
So I allowed him to help me
toward the bench, and he tried his best to tend the wound, once I was seated,
too absorbed in my own thoughts to resist.
It seemed an age before the
others turned up, during which time Adam and I did not exchange a word. We just
didn’t have the words to speak; how could anyone, after that? A Spectrum officer I hadn’t
met before led the small group; a medic, two officers and himself.
He was talking through his cap microphone, and sounded generally rather upbeat.
I got the sense that his part in the mission had gone well. Then as he surveyed
our situation, his mood soured instantly. “Don’t bother,” Adam told the
medic, as she crouched beside Dupont.
“He’s dead.” The officer, I think his name
was Teal, nodded. So, of course,
the medic came over to me. “It’s just a flesh wound,”
she reassured me, as she made a proper job of patching me up. I couldn’t hear much of what
was said between the officers, but I did watch as this man consoled Adam. “You did the right thing,” he
said, in answer to a statement I didn’t catch. “Completely reasonable, anyone of
us would have done the same.”
I had not expected that, I’d
assumed that in their world, where there are ‘good guys’ and ‘bad guys’; it
would be simple to kill in cold blood. Then I hated myself for believing they
could possibly lack such humanity. “Yeah, I know,” Adam
responded. “Doesn’t make it any easier to live with, though, does it?” The officer gave a rueful
sigh. “Not really.” I looked up and realised Adam
was standing before me. The last atom of surprise I had not already expended,
made itself apparent as I realised his face was not of a composed officer, but
that he was weighed down with concern. “Are you all right?” he
asked. “I’m going to call Ochre, check in with them about what the situation is
there. To make sure Mom and Cal are OK.” I nodded. “He’s destroyed so many
families,” Adam began. “I just… I couldn’t let him do that to us… I hope that
you understand that. And don’t think badly of me for what happened today.” I nodded, the burden of the
years quietly dissipating. “Of course, I understand, son.”
Symphony
We
drew up at the house – scratch that, it’s a mansion.
Captain Auburn, who was accompanying me, looked suitably awed by it all, but I
was surprised to find myself a bit jaded. Sure, it was a huge, fancy place, but
the Svensons’ was bigger, nicer-looking too. They’d tried to recreate that whole
château thing, but it was a bit much.
Auburn had picked me up from the airport in a Spectrum saloon, then drove the
rest of the way. It wasn’t an especially long drive, but he’d manage to cram in
the highlights of his life story, and not so subtly hitting on me. I could call
him Noah, if I wanted to, as that was his first name (I didn’t share mine). He
had cut his teeth in the World Government Police Corps, and recently been
headhunted to join Spectrum from the European sector thereof. And though
unfortunately he’d never got to meet the guy, he considered Detective Richard
Fraser a role model. This prompted him to spend a lot of time expounding on
conspiracy theories about said Detective Fraser’s assassination. I paid
attention to that part; for some reason, Ochre has a morbid fascination with the
details of his assumed demise. Particularly speculation which, as obviously they
disappeared around the same time, cast Patrick Donaghue in mob boss capacity as
being in on the conspiracy too. I think it’s the sheer improbability which
amuses him.
Anyway, Auburn mercifully quit talking as the car came to a stop on the long,
circular driveway, between the marble fountain and pristine black painted front
door. He
got out first, strode over, and rapped on the front door. Having followed, I
stood by his side. An
elegantly-dressed woman of about fifty-five answered. I could sense exactly who
she was, recognising that innate sense of style, poise and those almond eyes. “Bonjour, Madame Pontoin, I’m Captain
Auburn,” was all Auburn could say before the woman interrupted.
“You are from Spectrum, are you not?” He
nodded, and she near went to pieces.
“Oh,
mon Dieu, my poor bébé!
Oh, there has been something terrible happening. I just know it …” “Non,
non Madame, Juliette is perfectly fine,” I reassured her. “You don’t need to
worry about her. Actually we are here to speak with your husband. Is he home?”
“Not at this moment.” She composed herself. “Would you come in, to wait inside
for him?”
Auburn nodded, and I followed him into the house.
“You have a lovely home, Madame,” I commented, glancing around the living
room. It was decorated in a luxurious but unpretentious style, with neutral
colours, floral details and antique furnishings. “Merci,” she replied. “Oh, but please, my
name is Amélie.”
“That is such a pretty name.” I held out my hand. “I’m Symphony Angel.”
“That too is rather beautiful.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Auburn casing the joint. He was devoting
particular attention to the photographs.
There was a sense of familiarity in that, the loving, careful documentation of
an only daughter, just as my parents had done for me. The photographs spanned
roughly twenty-five years from inside their eclectic selection of silver frames.
My particular favourite was Juliette in her confirmation dress, pride and
contentment flooding from her doe eyes. It seemed rather ironic really; as I
know that when it comes to cussing, fornicating, and all manner of
‘un-Christian’ activities, our Bijou
can keep up with the best of us. There was another photograph next to it, taken
at a ballet recital. I never knew Jules did ballet; that’d explain why she’s so
– uhh - flexible. So I hear.
At
the sound of a car approaching, Auburn near flew out the door, instinctively
reaching down to check if his gun was holstered, while I followed with Mrs
Pontoin.
Jacques Pontoin did not look at all how I’d expected him to; just under average
height, thinning brown hair and a face that reminded me of a rampaging bulldog.
Surely, I must have met him at our Commissioning ceremony, but I couldn’t recall
it. At
the sight of us, Mr Pontoin really kicked off. “I
knew this day would come,” he declared. “This has brought such shame to our
family.”
Though his rage was not for the reasons we’d anticipated.
“We have no daughter!” he barked at his wife.
“I
… don’t understand,” I admitted, truthfully. Far as I knew, it was him dragging
their name through the mud.
“You thought he was such a charming man,” Mr Pontoin continued to rage at his, I
should think, long-suffering, spouse.
“You even said he would be a good match for her, to marry, and I agreed!
Oh, what fools we were.”
Auburn shot me what must have been his best ‘what-the-hell’ look, imploring me
to make some sense of this; but Mr Pontoin did that for us.
“That so charming man, with whom she would be so besotted, this Monsieur
Donaghue, is a criminal!” I
put a hand on Madame Pontoin’s shoulder, as she began to tremble with unshed
tears; but all I could think was ‘Pat? Our Pat?’ After all the years he’d been
in Spectrum and had a crush on me, I’d almost forgotten that Magenta wasn’t
always the noble professional and kind, easy-going friend we generally knew him
as.
“Sir, you have it all wrong…” I tried to interrupted, but Mr Pontoin wasn’t
quite done.
“It is all over the Internet, I see it with my own eyes, all the things he did.
The biggest syndicate in New York. They have made idiots of us. We have raised
our daughter to be bedfellow of a criminal!”
Madame Pontoin looked to me, her expression begging me for honesty, so that she
would know for sure if these accusations were true. I had no answer. What could
I say? We have been so careful to
conceal our current lives, because there was so much about our pasts in the
public domain. There was no way I could deny the crimes of Patrick Donaghue; but
about Captain Magenta they had it all so painfully, ironically, wrong.
“Bedfellow of criminal,” Auburn repeated. He wasn’t incredulous like me, or
filled with righteous anger, because he didn’t know Magenta or Destiny. He was
pretty confused though. “Sir, with all due respect, we’re not here about that.
We’re here to see you.” “I
do not know your meaning!” Mr Pontoin drew himself to his full height, but he
was still a good five inches shorter than Auburn.
“I’ll explain it to you then,” I butted in. “Shall we start or finish with
‘hypocrite’? Yes, that’s why we’re
here. We know all about your ‘fund raising activities’. That you hired
mercenaries to kidnap two members of the Svenson family, hoping to get a ransom
for them which would pay off your company’s debit.”
“This cannot be true!” Madame Pontoin insisted. “You must have the wrong man...
Jacques, tell them, tell them the truth.”
Pontoin blanched, which was answer enough.
“Which means, sir, that you are under arrest,” Auburn stated, brandishing
handcuffs. Mr
Pontoin had the good sense not to argue as Auburn spoke to him in French –
reading him his rights, I guess – but then, hell, if I’d know for sure. We
were all set to load Pontoin into the car and be done with it, but I allowed him
a brief moment to talk to his wife. “I
did not mean for things to be this way,” he said, solemnly. “I just wanted it to
be right, to get the company back as it should be. It was for us.”
She slapped him, a full belt across the face so hard he staggered into Auburn.
Can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same in her shoes. I saw her try to speak,
but every time, she seemed overwhelmed by emotion and unable to formulate the
words. So instead, she just turned her back on him. He pleaded with her;
protesting his innocence and begging for forgiveness, but watching her, it was
like he wasn’t there.
Madame Pontoin came to stand at my side.
“What shall happen now, to us?” she asked.
“Because the mercenaries he hired have links to terrorism, your husband will be
remanded in the custody of Spectrum Paris,” I began in answer to Madame
Pontoin’s plea. “Then, in due course, he will be
put on trial. I
cannot be certain of anything at this stage. But perhaps, if he cooperates
fully, then they’ll be lenient with him.”
Another car drew up, and we waited with a sense of foreboding, the Pontoins and
I
certain who had arrived but needing confirmation before we could breathe
again.
Destiny stepped out of the car, a poised woman scorned. She was wearing the
uniform we had recently been issued to the Angels, for us to wear when working
on the ground at other bases. Not our flight suit, but something between that
and the standard female Spectrum uniform. It looked almost wrong in this
setting; like she had stepped from another world into this one.
Initially, she made a point of giving her father the cold shoulder, approaching
her mother and speaking quietly to her in French. It seemed to comfort them
both, steeling Destiny for the inevitable confrontation which would follow.
Then with emotions in check, she stepped towards her father.
“Papa, I know what you did. For these last hours, I have been translating the
correspondence between you and Dupont.”
“See, I knew you would betray your family!” Destiny gave an incredulous laugh, momentarily surprised
that he would go on the offensive and put her in the wrong. She tried not to let
her hurt show as she spoke again:
“I was doing
my job, upholding the oath we have all taken as Spectrum officers. So - I showed
you for what you are? Well, pardon,
but even you cannot be too stupid to see that this was your doing? It is impossible to translate what is
not written in any language.”
Pontoin seemed surprised at the venom in her voice, but not to the extent he had
when his wife lashed out. I got a sense this wasn’t the first intense
father-daughter confrontation they’d had. After giving it some thought, he
nodded his understanding.
“Will you forgive me?” he implored.
Well, he’d sure changed his tune. Half an hour ago he was about ready to disown
her, over Pat. Not that it was any of my business to say that. By looking at
her, I could see that Madame Pontoin remembered too, but didn’t say anything
either. I got a sense she was the peace maker.
“How should I know!” Destiny retorted. “You do something so terrible, and then
just expect that nothing will come of it? That I will still be your adoring
little girl? But no, this is too much. All you ever care about is your image and
your stupid company. The man you take the money from, I work with his son. It’s
his mother and brother you had kidnapped! How I am supposed to face him again,
after what you have done? Let alone if his family is harmed! You are such a
selfish man.” “I
am selfish!” Mr Pontoin roared back. “This was all for you! So that you would
have the company to inherit, that in the meantime we could live in this house
and buy you such nice things!”
“If this is what it takes for you to keep me in that life, then I don’t even
want it. Besides, you may have noticed I have my own home and income now,
amongst true friends who know better than to think money can mend everything.”
Destiny gave a burst of mocking applause. “So well done, Monsieur
Pontoin, for your efforts. But they are not appreciated, as you will soon
discover in Di Witts.”
Madame Pontoin looked to me, horrified. “You did not say it would come to that!”
Not many people knew what Di Witts, the now infamous network of maximum security
prisons, was really like; and it’s not like I’d visited one of them or anything
either. But the name had been built up in the public conscious as some kind of
hell on earth; that it was populated by the most nefarious hardened criminals,
and that once someone was sent there, they had no chance of appeal or escape. A
modern day Alcatraz, maybe. It had sounded extreme in the papers, but Ochre and
Magenta had separately verified it wasn’t so far removed from the truth. So I
was inclined to believe them; after all, they’d know better than anyone else I
could have asked. I
could see why Amélie would be so concerned for her husband.
“Yes, I know, but honestly it probably won’t come to that,” I consoled her.
“Nobody’s saying your husband didn’t do anything wrong, but there’s still a
chance of leniency if he cooperates with the authorities.”
“See,” Mr Pontoin had to butt in, glaring at his daughter. “You should not make
accusations and say things which cannot be upheld. Now apologise to your mother,
for making her so distressed.”
“It is hardly appropriate for you to lecture me on morals, and I should imagine
Maman
was already distressed by
what you had done.” Destiny retorted frostily, turning her back and
rolling her eyes over her father. But she did apologise to her mother. Strong as
Juliette inherently was with her personality and military training, she still
needed emotional support from someone who could best understand her situation.
And on the flipside, her mother would need her more than ever when the charges
and judicial action really kicked in. I could understand that bond so well, from
visiting home, cloaked in the fresh grief of my father dying.
“Good, good,” Madame Pontoin said to me, resuming our conversation. “It is most
reassuring to know there will be understanding from the authorities. I know that
Jacques understands his crimes and will do his best to cooperate. Then all will
be forgiven and things can be right between us all, yes, Juliette?”
Still guarded, Destiny shrugged. “Yes, if that is so. There would be no need for
a grudge, should Papa have repented and been granted suitable absolution. Until
then, I reserve judgement.”
Amélie seemed content with that, for now. And Pontoin gave a sigh, as if
resigning himself to his fate; then he got into the car, aided by Auburn.
“Are you going to stay here?” I asked Destiny.
“Yes,” she replied. “I am still technically on leave after all, and Maman
needs me. Not all our duties are to Spectrum.” “Of course.”
“How is the mission going?” Destiny asked. “I feel so out of it, being on the
ground. This is not our natural habitat any more.”
“No, I guess you’re right… Anyway, yeah, the mission is going pretty OK, last
I’d checked in.” I didn’t really know much about it myself beyond what we had
been doing on Cloudbase. “And Sarah and Cal, the ones they kidnapped, they’re
hanging in there, and I’m sure they’re going to be fine, when all this is
finished.”
“That is good, I suppose. The best that it can be.” She nodded, seeming a little
distracted, and I could sense why.
“None of this is your fault, Jules. Adam knows that and won’t hold it against
you.”
“Maybe so, but you heard what my father said. That he did these things
ultimately for me. It is my family name that will be dragged through the press.
I cannot help feeling responsible in some part.”
“Well, you’re not. Your dad’s been caught and he’s lashing out, it doesn’t mean
…”
“Symphony,” Auburn called from the car. “We need to get going.” I
looked between them, conflicted. Obviously, my first duty was to Spectrum, but
there was no way I was comfortable just walking away when Juliette needed a
friend.
“Go,” she said, waving me away with as much of a smile as she could muster. “Maman
and I have each other, and there will be plenty of distraction here. Other
friends even. Amazingly, I do still have a life outside of our tin can home. So
don’t worry over me. I will see you later.”
“Uh, OK, see ‘yah.” I was going to say more to her, but I didn’t have the
chance, as she walked into the house without a backward glance. Her mother did though, and the
expression on Amélie Pontoin’s face at that moment will haunt me for a long
time. She looked as if the world had been
whipped out from under her.
Scarlet There is no such thing as
a textbook hostage situation. You can learn and prepare for contingencies and
various scenarios, but ultimately, it’s all in the lap of the gods. Assuming
that you believe in that sort of thing, which frankly I never have, or at least
not since the Mysterons first reared their ugly invisible heads. So being a
cynic, I will just say that there are many variables in the specifics of the
situation. Not to mention in the human nature of those involved, which is even
harder to predict.
It was peculiar to watch
the resort shrink away beneath us as we took off in the commandeered SvenCorp
helicopter. For a little while, I seemed to forget the gravity of the situation.
It was as if Adam and I were wealthy playboys, off to have a little ride in his
executive toy before joining his family for cocktails by the pool or some such
leisure activity which would be fitting of their station in life. It seems
rather a nice life, on the face of it. But I suspect that there must be some
flaw, for Adam to have rejected it, as he has such impeccable judgement to weigh
up the pros and cons. I wonder sometimes if he
misses it, considers the road not travelled. I know the others do. Pat will
complain good-naturedly about military life and pine for the comforts his
gangster life afforded. Brad jokily threatens to run away to sea again. And for
a moment, when Rick’s prankster façade slips, he seems weighed down with
unbearable guilt and regret, of which we will probably never truly know the
source. But Adam, I don’t know.
I’m closer to him than any of the captains, almost anyone I know frankly, and
vice versa. Yet overall, I know so little about his life before we met. I mean,
we traded the standard set of basic factual titbits years ago. But the emotional
content – his heartbreaks, childish accomplishments, those sorts of things – not
so much. Though it must be said
that, as military-minded blokes, we tend to have better things to do than sit
around, comparing notes on who we took to our respective senior school proms.
Then I started to get
cramp in my leg, and that snapped me back into why I was really there. I peered
through a grubby little glass panel of the helicopter’s door, rather than in the
front, fully taking in the panoramic view, like a self-respecting millionaire
playboy would. Obviously, that’s not my calling in life either, and it’s
probably a good thing, really. I get bored enough on long holidays as it is, so
what seems to be an unremitting holiday from ‘real life’ with no inherent
productivity makes me shudder. Terrible as this job can be sometimes, with the
associated suffering and failures, it’s very fulfilling when we do succeed. God,
I sound like a recruitment drive.
Mr Svenson was the one in
the co-pilot seat. He was unprepared for this situation and incredibly nervous,
of course; who wouldn’t be in his place? Last thing you expect as you embark on
a pleasant luxury beachside holiday is to be press-ganged into audience
participation on a Spectrum mission, complete with free ride in a requisitioned
chopper. I could hear him talking to Blue, the ebb and flow of voices as he
asked questions, because the silence was unbearable. Blue was, as usual,
perfectly patient and answered back, seamlessly omitting anything classified. It would, I admit, have
bothered me though. At that moment, before we ‘go over the top’ as it were, I
greatly prefer for it to be quiet, so that I can collect my thoughts and run
over the plan of attack. Personal feelings should never interfere with a
mission; I knew that from years of training, but it was impossible not to feel
it in this particular case, as we had Mr Svenson there with us as a constant
reminder of how much was riding on it. Ordinarily, the people we save are
strangers to us. So we don’t have such a degree of personal empathy or
investment in their wellbeing that could cloud our judgement, or just make it
harder to move on after the assignment is over, whatever the circumstances of
that may be. I prefer it that way. Though I suppose this way,
when it’s over, and I’ve no doubt we will accomplish our objectives, that it
will be significantly more gratifying.
My epaulettes then flashed
yellow. “Base to Scarlet; are you in position, over?” “We’re
still a few yards from it,” I answered. “I think.” “You think?” “My visibility isn’t very
good,” I clarified. Not that it would have made a fat lot of difference even if
I could see for miles. I could recall the blueprints of the resort complex, but
getting tossed around in the back of the helicopter had momentarily disoriented
me. “All the ground teams are
in position,” Ochre said. “So we’re just waiting on your signal.” “We’re about to over fly
the building,” Blue called out to me. “Blue says we’ve almost
reached the building,” I added into the communicator. “Will give the signal when
we are in position.” “SIG. Good luck. Ochre
out.” For some reason as I
readied myself for the drop, I felt a flutter of nerves. Which I instantly made
efforts to quash; these feelings aren’t of any use in these situations. We
didn’t have that luxury when lives were at stake. So instead, I double-checked
my jetpack and other equipment; there couldn’t be any mistakes or equipment
failures. Satisfied that everything
was in order, I shouted to Blue to hold her steady, then edged forward back
toward the hatch to open it. It wouldn’t open. Blue swore. “I should have
remembered, but it just never occurred to me: the hatch doesn’t open from the
inside, at least not while in flight.” “That
makes sense as a safety feature, like the child-safe locks in car doors.” “Yeah, brilliant idea that
was,” Blue grumbled. “Pretty ironic that as far as I can remember, this is the
only time anyone has even tried to open that thing while airborne, and it’s to
save the lives of people who use it.” “You’ll have to land it
then, on a roof close by, and I’ll go across with the jetpack.” “Yeah, hopefully that
wouldn’t attract too much attention. Or there goes our element of surprise.”
Blue swore again for good measure, almost like he was trying the word out. Then
he apologised to his father, for using such language; it seemed to me Mr Svenson
wasn’t remotely perturbed by it, but didn’t press the point. Blue radioed this new
development in our strategy to Ochre; they conferred a little, then came to the
same conclusion I did, as to the only course of action.
As it came into view, I
could see the roof of the hotel suite, in which the hostages were being held. We
landed on the roof of an adjacent building. It didn’t have a helicopter pad, as
many of the other larger buildings on the resort did; though at least,
thankfully, it was fairly flat. Landing wouldn’t be textbook easy, but Blue was
the best pilot that I knew (best male pilot, I should say), so I trusted that he
would be able to pull it off. “You ready to roll?” he
asked me. “As I’ll ever be.” “Good.” He made a sweep
over the roof. Searching for the optimum landing spot – not that we had many
options. Then I felt the chopper lose altitude. “You ought to invest in a
helicopter with a greater seating capacity,” I said through gritted teeth, as
Blue banked to the left and I had to cling for dear life or slid towards the
door along with what seemed like a tonne of luggage coming up the rear. “I’ll keep that in mind,”
Mr Svenson said mildly. The landing was far more
tolerable than I had braced myself for, though we came down with quite a clonk
on the terracotta roofing tiles. Good thing the roof could hold the weight of
the helicopter. I’m lucky they don’t charge me with all those destructions
occurring during assignments, or that would be added to it. “You had better be wearing Kevlar,” I called
to Blue, as he unbuckled the seatbelt I had by then become rather envious of.
Between his recklessness and habit of telling me to be careful, I think he often
forgets which one of us is indestructible. Blue got out of the
helicopter, walked round to the hatch, and I could see he was at least wearing a
flight helmet. “Course I am.” He opened
the door. I shouldn’t really have doubted it; Blue probably runs the safety
protocol through his head at five hundreds words per second as he brushes his
teeth in the morning. I believe at one point the theory behind partnering us
together was so I would live to see thirty four. “Remember Morado said there are
deliveries by helicopter made up here on occasions. So we shouldn’t instantly
attract suspicion.” “Do you think the
kidnappers know about that arrangement?” “Probably not.” Blue
shrugged. “There are a couple of snipers trained on the roof though, in case
they do rear their ugly heads.” “Well, that’s all very
comforting.” I can’t help rolling my eyes. But Blue wasn’t looking at me. “Dad, you’re going to get
yourself killed. I told you to stay in the chopper.” Mr Svenson looked at him
with that puzzled, vaguely amused, expression I’ve seen on his son. After all,
he hasn’t actually stepped out of the cockpit; just opened the door and stuck
his upper body out. My father would probably have done the same. “I just wanted to wish you
boys good luck,” he said innocently. “Thank you, sir, we won’t
let you down.” I shook his hand. “Very touching, Dad. Now
get back in, we have to go.” As I made my way across to
the roof of the building where the hostages were held, I allowed myself one last
trivial thought: that I really hope one day Adam has a son, who will no doubt be
just as exasperated by his stubborn yet surprisingly endearing father.
In these situations, it is
necessary to think on your feet, and what separates the truly skilled from
competent is naturally the ability to make the right decisions. The skylights, as I had
come to suspect, had tinted one-way glass; possibly as an effort to evade the
paparazzi, as the resort was popular with celebrities. So as we didn’t know in
which of the suites the hostages were being held, it would be utterly foolish to
just burst through any random skylight and hope for the best. In the worst case
scenario, I would drop straight into where they were being held, and watch them
be killed in front of my eyes before the rescue was even underway. Or more
likely, I would drop into where the hostage takers were hiding and be killed by
them instantly. Then ultimately, the worst case scenario would come to fruition
anyway. I made a brief scout of
the roof, considering the positions of all the various skylights and the doorway
leading up to the roof; then I found myself a suitable spot where I could be
relatively undetected should anyone appear, whilst I radioed through my new plan
of attack. “That seems an expected
development,” Ochre said, in his crisp official tone. I did rather have a habit
of spontaneously making amendments to the strategy, and going ahead to that end
without the consultation or the seeking permission of anyone else. It gave the
sense that I was overly impetuous, but I obviously wouldn’t have got where I am
today without being able to apply it. It’s more a case that I work well under
pressure; to analyse the situation on the spot, use my initiative accordingly,
then follow it through. My superiors have come to expect it of me, and my
colleagues appreciate it. They aren’t entirely immune to such spontaneity
themselves either. It was then I heard the
door opening. I quickly concluded the
conversation, in a hushed voice: “everything else proceeds as planned, await my
signal, Scarlet out.”
In contrast to the
constant hum of noise of the resort below us, from all the holiday makers and
general activity, it was quiet on the roof; under other circumstances, perhaps
one would call it peaceful. I could hear a few bursts of muted noise from the
ground; what I took to be native birds, squabbling over scraps of something
edible on the roof of a building to my right. But overall, the roof was an oddly
peaceful place.
The door had opened with
the kind of laboured metallic crunch and shrieking of protest that sets teeth on
edge. Clearly, this entranceway wasn’t much in use, and perhaps that was to our
advantage. It banged shut behind whoever had stepped out through it. He cursed
it afterwards; at least I imagined from his tone that it was laden with
obscenity. For someone who was supposed to belong to a skilled hired mercenaries
group, this guy didn’t seem very competent; he was doing nothing to disguise his
presence on the roof, as his footsteps clattered the tiling as he went. Perhaps
he was just arrogant, truly oblivious, or genuinely incapable of not making such
a bloody racket. Neither of which are positive attributes in his line of work.
Or mine, but I’m better at this. As it was no longer
required, I had stowed my jetpack out of sight. It was at this stage doubtful I
would come back later to retrieve it, but it was Spectrum equipment, so I’d
rather not have just allowed it to be casually discarded and destroyed. The mercenary didn’t
manage to find the jetpack or me. They had probably heard the helicopter and
just sent him up there to investigate as a half-hearted security measure.
Fortunately, by the time he did arrive at a vantage point where he could have
spotted it, the chopper was far enough away that any identifiable markings
couldn’t be seen at a glance, so it just blended in with any of the other air
traffic around the resort. He stopped in his ambling around, and I held my
breath as he was fairly close to where I was waiting, behind a skylight. I
really hoped he’d move on soon, because lying prone on terracotta tiling is
absurdly uncomfortable, to put it mildly. He seemed to get the hint,
and clattered back towards the doorway. It was then that I was able to make my
move; whilst alone up there, I had experimented a little and found the optimum
way to move with relative silence. Alas, that was crawling on my belly. I was
going to be horrendously scratched and bruised until the retrometabolism took
care of it, but that didn’t matter, my mind was entirely on the job. The mercenary – I could
see at this point that he was of Hispanic colouring, though that didn’t
necessarily mean he was local to this area –was having some trouble with the
door. It was a fire door, so opening from the outside presumably hadn’t been a
priority when it was designed. So he was alternating between cursing, thumping
at the metal, and calling to his cohorts inside to let him back in. With that as
a distraction, I was able to get close to him; a few yards or so, well within
firing range. But I waited a little longer, to see if the door would finally be
opened. He then pulled the chain of keys he had hanging from his neck from under
his shirt and flicked through them in order to locate the one he required. And
at that point, I dared to get optimistic, cocky even, about the chances of our
eventual success. This was going to be
almost disappointingly easy. Once he selected the
correct key, he triumphantly jammed it into the lock and started twiddling. I
was starting to think we’d be there all night, or my position would be given
away by someone radioing me to demand what the hold up was. At this point, he
was completely in my sights, so I ran forward and was able to take him by
surprise once he had reported that the roof was clear. We struggled a little but
ultimately he was no match for me and I was able to silence him and break his
neck. Then I lowered him to the tiles, gently, so not to attract any attention.
It was as I looked up from
disarming him that I noticed the chain of keys he had removed from around his
neck was now still dangling from the door by the key he’d put into in the lock.
It seemed a little too good to be true, so I tried it. No dice. The key fitted
but wouldn’t turn. Back to square one then. Well,
almost. It seemed someone had heard the commotion, and the gun firing and was
now climbing the metal staircase up to the roof to investigate why their
colleague had been up there so long. Stepping around the fallen mercenary, I
positioned myself, so that I would be concealed behind the door as it would
open, waiting as the footfalls grew in volume and proximity; a male voice called
out to Miguel. The man lying at my feet, I assumed. The door opened from the
inside, and a man stepped out onto the roof. At that point, a cloud was no
longer partially obscuring the sun, so the light outside, particularly glinting
off the skylight’s metal fixtures, was suddenly brighter. He lifted a hand to
shield his eyes, and I could smell that evidentially neither of these hostage
takers had been meticulous with their personal hygiene. He was distracted, so I
knew it was the moment to strike; I brought down the barrel of my gun on the
back of his head. He crumpled down to the roof. A bullet whistled past
where I was standing. I ducked away from it, almost winding myself in the
process of hitting the deck, but I hadn’t quite moved quickly enough as I had
been distracted. I felt pain bloom in my arm; it was enough to make me drop my
gun and swear. But I quickly regained my focus, disarming the second now
unconscious mercenary and taking a grim satisfaction that the body had fallen at
the optimum angle to prop the door open without causing an obstruction which
would ultimately hinder my progress. “What the hell did you do
that for?” I heard Ochre bellow through my earpiece. “I did not give the order
to shoot. And hello, you’re supposed to take out the terrorists, not kill my
men!” At that point I looked up,
seeing the sniper teams in place on the roofs of the buildings facing my
position; and based on the bullet’s trajectory, I knew which had fired. It made me smile for him
to say that. If anything, in reality, we were Colonel White’s men, as he was the
ultimate authority of Spectrum and who we all answered to. But I understood what
Ochre meant, and why he’d said it. Once you had earned the privilege, according
to his stringent criteria, Ochre was fiercely loyal and protective of his
friends both in the field and off duty. If I had to describe it, I’d say he
considered us as a motley selection of siblings. It makes him a valued part of
our team, but at times like that, I am very grateful not to be a subordinate
under his command. I checked my arm; the
bullet had just grazed it. So there was no point mentioning it really, as the
retrometabolism would take care of it quickly, the way it already had of my
earlier abrasions. “I’m all right, Ochre,” I quietly told him into my
microphone. “You know me and my charmed hide.” “That’s lucky then.”
Ochre’s indignation had mellowed to grumbling. “But it could have been worse,
and we can’t afford any more mistakes, people.” Easier said than done, of
course. But I think it was enough to shake some sense into the more
trigger-happy contingent of the local ground agents. To regain our focus on the
mission, I updated him of the latest developments from my end. “Ochre, I’m going
in through the roof access door. Where does that lead to?” On the other end of the
line, Ochre pored over the building’s plans. I shouldn’t have been surprised how
naturally he had taken to fulfilling this role. The majority of the time, I was
field commander, and for his part, Ochre effortlessly slots into the role of
team player, though of course, in his previous career in the Police Corps, he
must have dealt with many situations like this. Indeed, that was why he had been
appointed field commander in the first place for this specific assignment. “I’m in the east corner,”
I added into the radio silence. “We know, because you’re
still in our sniper sights… Anyway, that door leads down to the service corridor
running parallel to the penthouse suites. The suite the hostages are in is kitty
corner to your position.” I knew what he meant
before he corrected himself. I may not use such terminology as a habit, but
after years of working with them I was still fairly fluent in ‘American’. “And
there are two WGPC agents on the floor below you, waiting for the signal to move
in, so they’ll be dispatched and meet you in position.” “SIG, I’m going in.”
I took the stairs two at a
time, expecting to meet resistance on the way down, but there wasn’t any. At
that time, it wasn’t clear whether they didn’t yet suspect anything as their
cohorts hadn’t raised the alarm, or they simply didn’t have the manpower to
cover all points of attack. The corridor was decorated
in the bland style I had become familiar with from frequent stays in hotels
around the world; off white paintwork, brown trim, faux oak laminated flooring,
and strip lighting overhead. I turned a corner and saw another person in the
corridor; I must be getting old because to me he looked too young to be a cop,
decked out in riot gear with WGPC insignia. With Cozumel being comparatively
remote and this situation not being a matter of international emergency, it had
been necessary to involve some local law enforcement from other agencies, rather
than wait for other Spectrum agents to arrive. Spectrum always does it utmost
never to be undermanned. And since Spectrum is under World Presidential
authority, other organisations collaborate and follow our orders when necessary.
By some weird struck of coincidental luck, the WGPC agents I was to liaise with
had been in the hotel for a conference, and had been recalled to duty. Their
protective gear had been delivered to the hotel in secret, ready for when we
moved in on the hostage takers. At least that was how Ochre had explained it.
“Captain Ochre instructed
us to wait here for you,” the man answered, in response to my question. “To make
sure you didn’t get lost.” Yes,
I’m sure he did. “Captain Scarlet,
Spectrum,” I introduced myself. “Captain Archer, WGPC,” he
replied, shaking my hand as we walked to the entrance of the room. “And this is
Torres.” I nodded to the other man,
would have shaken his hand too if we’d had time and he hadn’t already been
holding a makeshift battering ram, in the form of as hefty metal sculpture of
what I imagined to be a Native God.
“Captain Ochre, we are in
position,” I said through the radio. “All units stand by.” “SIG Scarlet.” There was a general
consensus as each of the unit leaders stated that they were ready to go. Morado
was working with some of his men from the local base, and Magenta with other
Spectrum personnel drafted in to assist us, from the surrounding greater area.
“Ready?” I asked my new companions. They nodded, Torres
readying himself to swing the battering ram. “All units, go.”
With the logistic issues
which had come to light by not being able to access the roof through the
skylight, as we had initially planned, it was also necessary to change what my
role within the rescue operation would be. Instead of going in as the first
attack against the mercenaries, I was to follow the already discussed ‘plan B’:
to wait behind for a minute, and lead a second wave of attack with my backups. This meant that the focus
of my activities, once I had entered after the first burst of resistance was
quelled, would be to locate and free the hostages. If I hadn’t arrived in
advance, I would have had no trouble locating the suite once the rescue was
underway. Just as the word of attack was given, there suddenly was so much noise
just through the door, I was grateful to be wearing ear protection. Gunfire,
shouting, flash bangs and smoke bombs exploding in various corners. Not to
mention the curls of smoke coming from under the door. Though of course these
floors had been evacuated, there were still some foolish nosy people in the
hotel who would be attracted to the action. Archer later mentioned that a
couple, about my parents’ age and with a chubby-spoiled demeanour, who it later
transpired were occupying the suite below us, had been trying to get up the
stairs ready to complain about all the noise and these people showing up.
Thankfully we had someone assigned to drive these people away before they would
be accidentally hurt.
As we rammed the door open
and stepped inside the suite, it was all we could do not to become utterly
disoriented and thus paralysed into inaction. It was far more intense that we
could have anticipated from the outside. Every sense was assaulted by the
details of the situation: the noon sun and sparks of light from the flash bangs,
the acrid smell of smoke bombs, the hazy smoke screen they created, how it
burned down to your lungs to breathe even after you’d put on a respirator; the
utter cacophony of noise from gunfire and people shouting in more than one
language; the weight of the riot gear against your body. At that point, we were
still away from the main action in what I remembered was the living room. We
were just about able to hear ourselves think over the chaos. “I’m going to the right,
to check these bedrooms are clear,” I told Torres. I kept low and headed down
the back wall; I hadn’t asked the cops to cover me but they did anyway, deciding
it was a sensible move on their part as I seemed to know what I was doing. And
while I generally prefer to work alone, I appreciated the support.
We got to a room, and as
the smoke cleared, I was able to identify it as a study. Magenta was crouched by
the door, firing into the room; and judging by the returned fire, someone had
dug himself in behind the desk. “You missed the best part.
I kicked in a window,” Magenta told me, before returning another hail of
bullets. “Give it up, you stupid bastard. Carry on like this and you’ll all get
yourselves killed.” “He
probably doesn’t want to be taken alive,” I commented mildly, as I joined him in
shooting into the room and managing to shatter a wall light. “And wants to take
someone out with him.” “Well, it isn’t going to
be me.” By then I had been able to
judge the angle and position of the desk, and prepared to make my move. “I’ll try and get in
behind him,” I told Magenta. “Cover for me.” I really didn’t leave him
with an option, as I slid on my belly under the streaming bullets. Magenta is
the weaker marksman of the captains; compared to the rest of us, he lacks field
experience and for personal reasons, he’s uncomfortable about shooting anyone
and putting in more than the required amount of training with firearms, but he was more than
holding his own here. It was enough distraction for our adversary. He
noticed me, as I got closer, catching a glimpse of me through the smoke screen.
It didn’t matter much though. I was close enough by then to get a reasonable
shot. It wasn’t perfect by any standard but did the trick; and in the field
that’s what count. “Clear,” I called out,
having checked the rest of the room for any other people or booby traps.
Magenta, Archer and Torres crawled in; they would cover me from there as I went
ahead to continue looking for the Svensons.
I used my microphone to
make a quick report to Ochre. “Go ahead, Scarlet.” “I’m with Magenta, we’ve
secured the study.” “Good job.” Ochre sounded
a little out of breath, and not quite his usual composed self. “What’s the situation
right now?” I asked him, as I made my way along the wall towards the next room.
“How many of the enemy are there?” “Half a dozen, maybe.” “Initial reports said
there were only three men.” “So apparently, more of
them stayed in the suite, while the only three we knew about went in to kidnap
the Svensons. We’re not outnumbered
at least, far as we can tell at this stage.” “Well, that’s something.
Are any other rooms secured?” “A couple of the bedrooms,
along the south facing wall. And Magenta’s men are dug in around the kitchen.
There are eight other rooms in this suite. Morado is taking the north side,
liaising with him. We need to keep working quickly. If we don’t find the
Svensons soon… I don’t need to spell out what that means.” “SIG.” I checked the room I had
just reached; it was a small cloak room by the looks of it. It was empty, so I
proceeded further into the suite.
Across the suite, I saw
one of the local agents, who had been assigned to assist Magenta, slumped beside
the refrigerator. He was cradling his arm, blood rhythmically seeping through
the fabric on his shirt sleeve and dripping onto the marble kitchen floor tiles.
He was alive, enough to be cursing under his breath as his partner tended to his
injury. It was impossible to predict how long this standoff would continue for,
how long it would be until we could get him out of here to receive medical help.
And that deeply bothered me, increasing my determination to do my part to end
this. As a soldier, I knew that the life of one individual couldn’t be put above
the greater good of the unit and the mission itself. The man was being cared
for, competently as anyone could give him aid under these circumstances. All we
could do was our part to resolve the situation and, as far as possible, prevent
any further injury to our men. As I edged along the wall,
getting between two of the bedroom doors, I heard footsteps behind me; I swung
around ready to fire. “Hey,
chill, it’s me,” Magenta said. I had managed to crouch
behind a dresser, which was providing me with a semi-cover. It was filled with a
sophisticated, probably antique dinner service. A bullet whizzed past us,
imbedding itself into the wall inches above our heads; I manoeuvred out enough
for us to swap places, ensuring Magenta had better cover, as he needed it more;
for once he didn’t argue that point. He raised an eyebrow; “I
thought you were told to take the cops.” “I thought you were
staying to cover the study.” “It
wasn’t a direct order,” Magenta couldn’t help smirking a little. “He’s gonna be
less mad at me than you.” “It doesn’t matter, we’re
both here now.” I noted pointedly. “Because you ordered the cops to stay
behind.” “Well, somebody has to
keep the room clear, no need for us all to be running about playing GI Joe.”
Magenta still had a couple of grenade-like smoke bombs left over, clipped to his
Kevlar vest, so he unclipped one and handed it to me. “Which way are we heading
then?” “Ten o clock,” I decided.
“If this next bedroom along is cleared, then we’ll search the big cupboard to
the right.” He gave me a shove. “Let
me get out of here first, I don’t want a faceful of that stuff; respirator and
high spec goggles only do so much.” I readied myself to toss the bomb towards the direction of the firing,
when Magenta grabbed my elbow, stilling me. He then gestured towards a pair of
mercenaries who had been firing on us, but were now apparently retreating – away
from any visible exits, which didn’t make sense. There wasn’t time to stand
around and evaluate any plan of offence. I simply ran first, yelling for the
others to hold their fire as I came through, with Magenta following me.
I realised then what they
were about to do. They had gone to all this effort to take Sarah and Michael
Svenson, needed them alive so the ransom demands would be met, and had their
reputations riding on not messing it up. They couldn’t leave without, at least,
trying to take the hostages along too; they might even want to use them as a
bargaining chip to get out if needs be. We couldn’t let that
happen. With any luck, they were
leading us straight to their hostages.
In all the chaos, it was
rather difficult to keep sight of our targets. When we caught up with them they
were hemmed in down the end of a short corridor, which ran with the master
bedroom and en-suite to the right of us, and a wall of floor to ceiling windows
to the left. Part of this wall was in fact a set of double doors out to the wide
covered balcony running the length of the suite. Several were already broken.
That had been the point of entry for Magenta’s team into the suite, after they
had climbed up the fire escape ladder which ran to ground level. They had no
time for unlocking it either.
One of the hostage takers,
who had already been hiding out in one of the rooms, had been tackled and
restrained, and left lying on the floor. He had no intention of going quietly,
quite literally, shouting the odds about his ‘brutal’ treatment. The sooner we
got him out of there the better. Now it appeared we were
just down to these two; once they were captured or killed, and the hostages
freed, it would all be over.
They had to be stopped
before reaching the corner; I stopped, Magenta did the same, and we took aim. “Put down your weapons!” I
shouted. “Hands behind your head!” They stopped running; and
then, they obeyed, with some reluctance. But what alternative was there with
several guns trained on them? With hindsight, I should
have anticipated their next move; it did all seem too simple. As Magenta approached and
bent to collect the weapon of the closest mercenary, the latter sensed the
moment of opportunity and charged. Knocking Magenta aside, he headed the only
way he still had left: out on to the balcony. I would have gone to
assist my colleague, but the other hostage taker took advantage of the confusion
and also made a break for it. I caught glance of Magenta as he went after the
first kidnapper through the window, as I myself gave pursuit to the second one.
The kidnapper was fast, a
wiry man in his late twenties with adrenaline pushing him on. Still, I was able
to catch up with him, and pulled him down to the floor. We both landed with a
painful thump. My gun slipped from
my hand under the impact; it didn’t really matter. I am quite proficient in
unarmed combat, so I wasn’t that worried.
The kidnapper, however,
seemed to also know some martial arts, and seeing me unarmed fired him up to
lash out. He was punching, kicking, twisting away under my grasp. He was better
than I had expected, and I wasn’t quite able to counter all the blows he rained
on me. But I still kept my guard up, and it was enough for me to keep the upper
hand. I had no intention of giving up, but this man was desperate, and I could
look him in the eye and see he had no remorse or empathy. It
made me more determined to arrest him; not simply because of the treatment my
best friend’s family had to suffer at this man and his accomplices’ hands. This man was a despicable criminal who
obviously had little regard for human life.
He needed to be stopped. I levelled a punch to his
jaw, which stunned him temporarily; he seemed surprised by the venom with which
I was fighting. “Where are the hostages?”
I yelled into his face. We tussled and landed on
what must have been a shard of broken window. I felt the glass dig into my arm.
But I was so focused I didn’t acknowledge any of the pain which followed;
instead, I pushed him into more of the broken glass. I felt a grim satisfaction
as it sliced into his flesh. “I’ll only ask you once more, where are the
hostages?” Once again, he refused to
answer. During our fighting, he cursed me several times. It was in a language I
didn’t know – but I could certainly understand its meaning. The
fight ended, so I thought, with me finally bringing a heavy object down on to
his temple. Initially as I raised it, he seemed surprised by this turn of events
– that I wouldn’t fight fairly. Then after impact, he slumped back, his eyes
closing. I hadn’t wanted it to come to that, but as he wasn’t forthcoming with
the location of the hostages, it was necessary to eliminate him as a threat to
them.
It was then I realised
that Magenta had disappeared; just a moment ago, he had been right behind me,
until he went after that other kidnapper, who had fled onto the balcony. I had
been so busy with the fight, I had no ideas where he had gone to or what had
happened to him. But Magenta was capable of taking care of himself, and we would
regroup later.
Looking down at myself, I
realised that I was in far worse shape than I had anticipated. Satisfied I could
manage it, I stood and walked down a few steps towards the room I suspected the
hostages were held. It was then I heard Morado
just behind me, shouting at someone to drop their weapon. I turned around and
saw another kidnapper emerge from a
side room. I thought we had cleared
the place, but there he was, standing in the doorway, arrogance incarnate,
holding a gun. It was then I realised that I still didn’t retrieve mine.
It was a sloppy mistake, and it was giving him the advantage over me. Our eyes met, and I knew
it would happen before it did, but there was still no way to fully prepare
myself for it; the colour-coded body armour I was wearing protected my chest,
but I was wearing only the minimum, and the kidnapper had obviously noticed that
my legs were entirely uncovered and vulnerable. It was a detail he exploited, as
he aimed for my right leg; he pulled the trigger, hitting the artery several
times. I went straight down, with
a force that surprised me. I’m fairly sure that I struck my head on the edge of
something as I did. My vision blurred and the pain was intense, but I attempted
to crawl away. For a moment I could see the killer approaching, with a look of
satisfaction. He probably expected that I would bleed
out before the required degree of medical assistance could arrive. There were several shots
in response to those which had injured me. They seemed to be miles away as I
drifted at the edge of consciousness. I heard Morado shouting that they had got
him. The kidnapper, I assumed. By then it was all I could
do to call Ochre. I have no recollection of what I said exactly. But his
response, his concerned tone as he kept talking to me, and running footfalls,
were the last thing I heard before passing out. |
Magenta
He fought damn hard that
mercenary. It wasn’t quite enough though, and so, realising there was no way
out, he attempted to flee down the fire escape. It had been so easy, a reflex
almost, to leap over the railing of the balcony after him and cling to the fire
escape ladder. I fought with my adversary until the moment he lost his footing
and had to let go, inevitably plunging to his death. I was completely unable to
look down, but it didn’t matter. I knew the memories of those sounds, his last
utterance, and of the moment his neck must surely have snapped, would stay with
me for a long time. Exhausted by my fight, I
hanged there, winded. Once I had recovered my composure, and decided it was time
to brace myself to rejoin the fray, I realised it would be almost impossible for
me to climb onto the balcony the way I had come down without a helping hand.
Obviously I’d managed it earlier with the jet pack, but not now. I was too
drained from everything that had happened since and the resultant toll of my
muscles meant they ached like hell.
It was Ochre who came to
my aid. Good old Rick; he can always been relied on to help me out of a bind.
The fact that he would then more often than not tease me mercilessly about it
for weeks afterwards was a small price to pay. It wasn’t like I couldn’t hold my
own. I heard him first, the sound of his approaching voice drifting outside as
he received sitreps and gave orders.
From my position, I saw
him a moment later, as he suddenly arrived on the balcony, planting his feet
firmly at the edge. Much as I like Ochre the guy, I still thought it was a
really ugly colour for footwear. But even then I was actually glad to see them
in all their aesthetic criminality. He took a few steps and leaned over the side
railing, I guess trying to identify the body he must have been able to see on
the ground. “Pat,” he said, quite
gently, as if not really expecting me to respond. “I’m down here,” I
answered right back. He leant his upper body
over the railings, holding back slightly until he was sure it really was me,
then gave a huge grin of relief. “Well, get back up here,
there’s no time for hanging around.” “Yeah, good one.” Then he realised his
unintentional pun, gave a snort, and leant closer to help me up. By then, I managed to
climb a couple of rungs; it was enough so that he held out his arms to me, and I
was able to grasp his hands. Only then did I step off the ladder, and he pulled
me up over the railing. Though it seems we both misjudged the distance and
leverage required, and I nearly knocked him down. “You OK?” he asked. “Yeah, peachy.” “Good, because y’know, for
a minute back there …” He put a hand on my shoulder and guided me back into the
suite. “One of Morado’s men told me you had gone over the railing to catch that
guy. When I saw that body down
there…” He stopped, and took a deep breath. “Try not to scare me like that
again, okay?” “I’ll do my best.” “OK, back to work then.” By then the gunfire and
flashes of light had ceased, the smoke was dissipating, and our senses were
adjusting to the default levels of stimulation. But my ears were still ringing,
and with the adrenalin wearing off, I realised that I was going to be seriously
sore the next day and probably into next week too. Galling as it was to admit,
the simple fact was that none of us are getting any younger. “You missed a hell of a
party,” I told Ochre, seeing the suite through his eyes now that the standoff
was over. He had just arrived to survey the situation and oversee the fall out.
Ochre always wants to be in the thick of the action, he’s far less subtle than
he likes to think. “Yeah, looks like it.”
The place really was such
a mess, and I could see some of our men had been badly injured, with EMTs
fluttering around them, offering aid. You couldn’t pay me enough to go back to
my tedious postgraduate computer programming job, but a part of me missed the
simplicity of it. Naturally, any job-related mistake is undesirable; at least
there, it wouldn’t have at worst come with a body count.
Another plate crunched
underfoot as I walked across the suite, towards the floor length broken window. “That is sort of
impressive really,” Morado commented mildly. He had approached from the opposite
direction, after having overseen the care of one of his men, who had been shot
in the kitchen. “More luck than
judgement,” I said. “... but I don’t know why they came this way. There isn’t
really any access to the roof from this end, not without some gymnastics and
it’d be risky while under fire. And it’s not the way down or out to the other
parts of the hotel either.” “You’re probably right,
but they looked like they had a reason.” That prompted me to have a
really unsettling thought. “Maybe they had no intention of getting the hostages
out at all. If things went fubar, they’d just kill them. Easier for them all
round in the long run, while trying to flee.” Morado gave a brisk nod.
“We better find them soon.”
He dispatched an agent to
check in one of the rooms, and then the three of us headed to the master
bedroom. “Why haven’t they been found yet?” Ochre asked
me quietly. “You really think they’re still alive, I mean it’s been…” “You can’t think that…” “Captain.”
We both looked around
then, figuring it was one of the local ground agents and they could be trying to
attract the attention of either one of us. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for
someone to keep seeing our uniform colour and not know exactly what name was
supposed to correspond to it. I mean, they aren’t exactly clear cut like blue or
grey. It was Ochre who
approached, as he was field commander.
I followed him round. Then
I noticed it: the red boot, sticking out from behind a little couch, the rest of
the body obscured from our view. I got a sense they were into little
couches here; a love seat, I guess they’d call them, to be fancy. The ground agent, one of
the medical team, was crouched beside Scarlet, who seemed to be unconscious,
with all manner of dressing and instruments spread out around her. It was then I
noticed a flicker of panic pass over Ochre. Scarlet’s retrometabolism was a
close-guarded secret; if it came to light here, we’d have yet another huge
problem on our hands. “Is he dead?” I asked. I tried not to let it
show, but for some reason, I still got squeamish over dead bodies. Especially
Paul’s dead body, which didn’t make a whole heap of sense, because he wasn’t
even really dead, not permanently the way anyone else would be. Maybe that’s why
it got to me. “No, thankfully,” the
medic answered. “But that means he’s probably still in pain. He’s been shot at
least twice, you can see the exit wound near his right knee.” Ochre took another step
forward, getting between me and Scarlet. He was in charge; he was going to deal
with it. “Captain, go and check
that door over there.” Ochre pointed his thumb towards it. “I’ll stay here with
Scarlet.” “SIG,” I replied, keen to
continue the search for the hostages.
“Thank you,” I heard him
addressed the medic, “for attending to him.
A medical helicopter has been dispatched to return him to Cloudbase.” The medic looked
horrified. “Sir, I don’t think you understand. Captain Scarlet has lost a lot of
blood. With his injuries, he needs to get to a civilian hospital ASAP. Or he
could die.” Actually, from Paul’s
perspective, dying would be the preferred option; because that was the only way
his pain would completely stop, and his body would be able to put all its
efforts to healing his injuries. It seems wrong to want that for a friend. “This isn’t a decision we
make lightly,” Ochre countered. “But my colleague here has a, uh, a very rare
medical condition. So it’s vital he returns to Cloudbase to ensure that he can
be given the exact care he needs.” The medic rolled her eyes.
“Then tell me what’s this condition of his is – I assure you,
we’re quite capable of managing…”
“No, thank you,” Ochre answered calmly.
“I have my orders and I follow them. The Spectrum helicopter will be here
shortly, just makes sure he’s stable for the trip.”
She didn’t like it one bit, arguing that in his condition Scarlet shouldn’t be
moved anyway; but as the helicopter ride seemed inevitable, she stayed and
ensured he was cared for.
“What’s through that
door?” I asked no one in particular as I reached it. Morado gave it some
thought, trying to recall the floor plan we had separately looked over. “I think it’s a dressing
room,” he said. “Something fancy like that.” “Well, I’m going to go
check it out. You guys stay put.”
As a reflex, I drew my gun
as I approached. The door reminded me of one of those in my sister’s house; all
glossy, neutral paintwork and heavy bronze antique-looking handle. I tried the
handle and couldn’t get the door open. Which wasn’t all the surprising really,
as I realised this must be where the hostages were. The man who had shot Scarlet
was laid prone and dead near the entrance to the bedroom. I asked Morado to
search him for a key, which would open the door, but he found nothing. It must
have fallen out and been lost in the chaos; there wasn’t time to hunt all over
for it.
The carpets were dark in
these rooms, so it made it a bit harder to figure out if there was blood on the
floor. But I noticed some was trailing away from the door; the carpet pile was still sticky
and slightly damp with it. Scarlet’s blood, I suspected, as the trail lead
towards him. He must have been reaching for the door when he was ambushed. I put my ear to the door,
listening out carefully to determine if or how many people were on the other
side, as it was quite possible that, if the hostages were indeed
in there, then they might not be alone, and there could be at least one
mercenary keeping guard over them. I heard a whispered conversation; there were
two people in there, at least, and they were having a disagreement by the inflection of it.
Eventually one of them must have reached for the door handle, because I saw it
moved from my side; but he had the same end result I did. At that point, I beckoned
for Morado; when he stood near me, I counted down. Then, with our combined
weight behind it, we rammed the door, which easily gave.
We came face to face with
our hostages. Having expected the worst, they were prepared for fight, and two
armed military guys busting in wasn’t exactly convincing them of their safety. I
couldn’t see Mrs Svenson, but I heard her scream, and her son stood in front of
us, wielding a pipe. “Hey, come on,” Morado
said gently. “Drop it.” After a moment, Cal
Svenson recognised me, and slightly embarrassed, he let the shorn off length of
copper piping clatter to the tiled floor. “You’re safe, now,” I
reassured him. “I’m Captain Magenta, of Spectrum. Where’s your mom?” “In the tub,” Cal said.
Which was a perfectly logical place for her to be there in that kind of
situation. He sounded numbed, in
shock; the emotions of the day were obviously catching up with him. “Wait,” Cal began. “What time is it?” Morado looked at me,
shrugged, then told him. “Twenty hours,” Cal said.
“Since this all began… I was just curious.”
I briefly called to Ochre
in the other room that we had found the hostages, and he gave a swift nod of
acknowledgement. Then, while Morado checked Michael over, I went over the huge
deep bathtub set into the floor in the centre of the room; it was all rather
opulent, with the gold taps and whirl pool jets. It wouldn’t be a comfortable
place to stay put, but it was fairly sensible to hide there: it was out of sight and out of the
firing line. “You’re safe now,” I told
Mrs Svenson, mounting the first step and peering down at her. She was curling
into herself, tucked against the edge of the bath, and looked so far beyond
terrified, it was heartbreaking. I couldn’t help thinking of my own mother; the
dangers I had unwittingly put her in, and still did, with my job. They were
total innocents; it wasn’t right. “Here, take my hand.” I
offered it to her and she took it. Her grip was strong, though when she stood up
and took a step, she faltered. Obviously, their captors hadn’t made the effort
to feed them or kept the room cool. “Can I get you anything,
food, something to drink?” “I am a bit peckish,” she
said. “Just something light, some crackers maybe.” It was a simple enough
request to fill, not that it mattered. Right then, I’d have turned the resort
upside down to get them exactly what they wanted. As it was, the kitchen fridge,
despite the mercenaries greed, was still fairly well-stocked. So an agent,
another of Morado’s men, was dispatched to get them something. I added in some
fruit, cheese, and other small snacks onto my request too. “We really ought to get
going,” Mrs Svenson said, between two small bites. “I’m sure my husband will be
very worried about us.” “It’s OK; my colleague has
already informed him that you’ve been found safe and well. It’s still quite crazy outside, lots of
mess and people. We’re just going to do the last of the essential clean up and
keep the press at bay. Then you can leave. So it’s OK to sit a while and compose
yourselves if you want.” Mrs Svenson nodded,
resuming her birdlike eating. I could sense she appreciated that short time to
compose herself, now that they knew they were safe. I didn’t elaborate on what
the clean up would entail; there were still the last of the bodies to remove,
and the changeover from Spectrum to the crime scene crew. It would be less
distressing for them to wait a while and not see that. We had one of the medics
come in and check them over. Aside from being scared witless, hungry and having
got overheated, they were in good shape. “Is Fae all right?” Cal
asked. “The girl who was with
us,” Mrs Svenson elaborated. “She wasn’t kidnapped, though. I think she
escaped.” “Yeah, I know. She’s just
fine.” “Good.” Mrs Svenson
smiled. Then she held out her hand to Cal, and he took it contentedly, for
probably the first time in at least ten years. “May we go now?” “Yeah,
I think we’re ready.” Sarah It’s all over … It’s over …
over. I can’t quite believe it. Everything happened in such a
blur; it seems impossible to be able to put it all together in my head. We were still locked in a
side room, so the first we knew of anything happening was a loud crash, our
hearts leaping into our throats as the sound ebbed into the shattering of glass.
Immediately, there was a melee of shouting, scuttling footfalls and cracks of
gunfire, against a background of bursts of blinding light and near-deafening
bangs. I don’t think I have ever
been so terrified in my life. “Mom, we better get behind
the door,” Michael said. So I crawled across the room,
hoping that, by being behind the door when it opened, it would offer some
protection, should anyone burst in firing. So we huddled together, waiting. We’d been told by our captors
that if their demands were not met, or the law intervened, then they would come
in and kill us; and we had every reason to believe they would. One of them had
been in, just as the chaos outside had begun, trying to make us leave. It had
been Cal who had fought him off me. The man had not expected that, and he had
turned tail, but not before locking us back in again. After that, we had heard
footfalls, and two men talking outside the bedroom. One voice I recalled was of
the kidnapper who had tried to reach us, and the other had a crisp English
accent. A loud crack followed. Then nothing, the rest of the noise
seemed far away. “We’re going to die,” I said,
resigning everything to Fate. At that point, I didn’t really care what the
outcome of this nightmare would be, I just wanted it to end. That sense of
certainty filled me with a peculiar calm. “No, we’re not. Not today,”
Michael said with as much more quiet assurance than I possessed. I’d like to say that I told
him how much I loved him, that I always had and always would. Though to be
honest, my mind was such a mess, faith and fear battering me in alternating
waves. I do remember asking him if
he was scared; then he turned to me and I knew for sure. Of course he was
afraid, but he was doing his best not to show it. How could I have ever really
doubted that? He was staying strong for my sake; for both our sakes. Then I
noticed he was holding a piece of pipe. It was metal, but probably not
particularly robust; it was more the sentiment, really. He was determined to go
down fighting, defending me. Just as suddenly as it had begun, an eerie silence descended. I
heard an almost familiar voice on the other side of the door; but I couldn’t
speak, too terrified I had guessed wrong, and this man would harm us too. By
then, I had climbed into the bathtub, and brought Cal with me, thinking that it
would be safe if no one could see us. After what seemed like an
hour to me, but could only have been a moment later, the door burst open.
It had been locked, I knew. So they had to kick it in. Which was
terrifying, as at that point we had no idea if the kidnappers had been arrested
or not. We had been expecting it to be the same kidnapper as before, coming back
with reinforcements, but now we were facing two men, wearing uniforms of
Spectrum officers. I saw Cal readying himself
again with the pipe, just in case it was a trick. “You’re safe now,” said the
officer who had introduced himself as Captain Magenta. It took a while, but
eventually, I recognised him as Fae’s uncle. I felt guilty then, not knowing
what had happened to her. So I asked, and it was a relief to know she was safe.
For some reason, Michael
asked the time, and we were duly told. Twenty hours, that’s how long this
nightmare had been. It felt more like a lifetime. We were given some small
things to eat; the kidnappers had not been kind like that. And then, when we
felt strong enough, we left. I refused to entirely believe the kidnappers
weren’t going to reach out and grab us, even though the Spectrum officers hauled
them away. Then we were lead through the rooms toward the exit, and something
caught my eye. Red, that was all I could
see; then we stopped and it came into focus.
A man sat like an island in a
sea of glass shards, furniture and other household items scattered around him,
and blood, more blood than I had ever seen. He seemed to be just waking up;
another man in brown was crouched, seemingly reassuring him, as
they loaded him onto a stretcher. “That is Paul, isn’t it?”
Michael asked. “Yes … Ma’am, please.”
Magenta gripped my arm as I tried to run to him. Poor Mary, I thought. Since
our sons had joined Spectrum together we had become good friends, visiting each
other often with our respective families in tow. And talking on the phone,
sharing our maternal triumphs and concerns. So it left me feeling guilty that
her only son had been hurt when I was about ready to weep with gratitude that my
baby was safe. “Is he… is he going to be all
right?” I asked. I then immediately wanted to take it back for fear of what the
answer may be. “He’s gonna be fine, don’t
look so worried,” Paul’s colleague, in the brown tunic, Ochre I think they
called him, insisted. “It’s a nasty bump on the head, I agree, and a bad leg
wound. But honestly, it’s all fairly superficial stuff overall. And our medical
team is one of the best, so he’ll be his usual self before you know it. We can’t
get rid of him that easy.” I didn’t ask about the blood,
it couldn’t be his then, surely, which was a relief. But beyond that, I didn’t
want to know. As it was, my legs buckled,
and I felt myself go down. Strong arms scooped me, and supported by Magenta, I
made my way out into the sunlight, with Michael walking by my side.
The next thing I remember was
the warm, familiar sensation of Adam’s embrace. “Momma,” he kept saying
softly, as if not believing I was truly there. Tears were flowing freely down
his face. From over his shoulder, I
watched as Bjorn approached, his emotions just as palpable. I was the only one
not crying; the tears just would not come. I supposed it was the shock. We held out our arms and
welcomed him into our embrace; time stood still as we stood there, entangled. “It’s just a flesh wound,
Sal,” Bjorn reassured me, referring to his bandaged shoulder, and the arm
supported in a sling. “No big deal.” There was a hint of pride in his voice – as
if he felt he could hold his head up amongst the heroes of the hour. It sounded like a reply,
though I couldn’t recall asking any questions. Then it seemed as if a coil
of wire had wrapped around my insides and pulled tightly, as I swung around in a
panic, desperately looking for Adam who had disappeared from my side. He must
have said something; it wouldn’t be like him to just leave like that, but I
hadn’t heard what he’s said. After that horrific searching
moment, I saw Adam, walking with Ochre to escort Paul to the medical helicopter;
he was clearly hurt but alert, managing to talk a little with his colleagues.
Excusing himself, Cal left me, and went to Paul’s side to speak with him
briefly. I could hear snatches of what he was saying; my boy, my baby boy, was
thanking this man for saving our lives. You can’t help but feel so humble and
grateful to these men who do such a dangerous job all the time. If I could have
found the words, I would have thanked them myself, but there would be time
later. Adam came to stand
between them loosely gripping Paul’s free hand as a gesture of comfort, then
stepped back as the stretcher was loaded and lead Cal back to me.
“You should have seen him,” I
said. I recounted the events which had occurred, and how Michael had defended
me. “He would make a fine
Spectrum officer, don’t you think?” Initially I thought Adam had
uttered the sentiment, then I realised it had been Bjorn, which is certainly
something I never expected to ever hear from him. “Never thought you’d ever say
that,” Adam muttered. “Well, I was just saying,”
Bjorn continued, a little hesitant, “that, from what I have seen of Spectrum
officers, they seem very honourable; and this sort of work could well suit
Michael. The discipline of it may do him good.” Adam smiled. “Well, of course
he’d have to train for it. It’s a hard slog, and they only pick the best. But he
has potential.” I looked over to Cal; the
colour rose to his cheeks and he seemed suddenly fascinated with the ground
between our feet. “Oh, so you’ve given up
plotting for him to be the next financial whiz kid at SvenCorp?” I asked Bjorn. “I gave that up long ago.
Michael has too many ‘principles’.
Though he doesn’t seem to mind hacking the computer system for the hell of it.”
Bjorn shook his head. “I cannot believe I’m father to a democrat.” “Two actually,” Adam said,
with quiet amusement. “I don’t know how you can live with the shame.” Bjorn slipped an arm around
him. “I suppose you’re not so bad,
really, and at least Peter turned out all right.” I shook my head
affectionately at the pair of them.
It is quite possible that they’ll never stop needling each other. But after
everything that had gone on, who could tell? After all, stranger things happen
at sea. Magenta approached us again,
with Fae walking beside him. Michael went to her. “You missed all the drama!”
he told Fae. “I know. They had me hiding in a safe house. I’m so disappointed, you have no idea.” “Don’t be,” I told her. “You don’t know what it was like!” It was such a relief to know
she was safe, that we were all together again. Magenta discretely spoke with
Adam, while Bjorn clutched Michael with his uninjured arm. Then Magenta turned to me.
“Dr Weiss, Spectrum’s top psychotherapist, has offered her services, if you’d
like to take them.” “Nah, it’d take more than
this to scar me for life,” Michael quipped. “I’ve seen Grandma Ellis naked.” Adam made a show of being
horrified, and then laughed. “That’s the spirit.” “That’s a very kind offer,” I
told Magenta. “But I’m sure we’ll be able to manage.” “Well, no pressure, of
course,” he replied. “But it’s there, if ever you want it.” “Is there anything more we
need to do here?” I asked. “You’ll need to give
statements,” Magenta answered. “There’s a team here ready to interview you, it
shouldn’t take long. Then if we need to contact you again, we can do that
through your nearest Spectrum HQ once you get back.” I nodded, suddenly feeling
very weary. “I’d really just like to get back to Boston.” Adam smiled. “I know, but it
has to be done. Honestly, we’ll make it quick, then have a plane waiting.” With that, Michael looked
down at his red sneakers, tapped the heels together three times and proclaimed:
“Ah yes, there’s no place
like home.” ~Epilogue~ Cloudbase Days later, Blue lay looking
up at his ceiling, waiting for his breathing and heartbeat to slow, a fine sheen
of sweat on his brow. He’d known this would happen:
thinking back to when his family was in danger, and of the memory of his own
kidnapping, years ago, which often came back to haunt him at times like this,
when he was so sure he’d moved on. His subconscious might be
unsettled, but the rest of Blue’s mind merely ended up frustrated. He knew
logically that the past could not be changed, that events had worked out better
than anyone could hope, that the nightmares would pass in a few more days. So
why the lost sleep? Symphony reached out an arm,
cupped his chin in her hand, and laid her own chin on his chest. “Bad dream, again?” Blue managed to smile a
little, at the utter perfection of her, the polish and poise she wore through
the day stripped away so that for a moment, he could savour at her just being
Karen. “Yeah, guess so,” he
answered. “but it’s OK, really. You can go back to sleep.” “What if I don’t want to?”
She raised an eyebrow suggestively. “Well then, don’t.” He pulled
her closer. “It’s a free world.” She ended up laid on top of
him, their bodies as perfectly aligned as their height difference would allow,
bent elbows either side of his head propping up her chin. For his part, Blue
trailed his hands up and down her back. “Did you call your mom in the
end?” she asked, out of nowhere. He gave a positive response,
and was rewarded with a tender kiss. “Well, actually, I mostly
talked to Cal,” Blue added. “He’s coping really well, all things considered.
It’s just that… Mom’s not doing so great. Nightmares, anxiety brought on by loud
noises.” “Well, that seems quite
understandable, after what they went through.” “Yeah, but she hasn’t left
her bedroom since they got back from Cozumel.” Blue sighed. “I’ve never seen her
like this before, Kay. Everyone’s rallying round and all, but I don’t think it’s
going to be enough.” “Oh, I don’t know. Women are
tougher than men. That’s why we live longer. And I figure if she can have sons
as strong as you and Cal, well then, she must have some reserves of her own.” “Maybe you’re right, but I’m
still going to call Dr Weiss, to see if she knows someone in Boston who could
talk to Mom.” “Fair enough… what time is
it, anyway?” Blue looked at his alarm
clock, and gave a long suffering sigh. “Time we get ready for work.” “Five more minutes?” Symphony
hugged him. “I’m afraid not, honey.” Blue kissed her softly as he
untangled himself and clambered out off bed. “Time and colonel await no man.” “True enough.” Symphony
unlocked the bottom drawer of Blue’s chest of drawers, where she kept a spare
uniform and other essentials for when she stayed over. “Look, I have to work
‘til 16:00; but after that, I’ll stop by the lounge, and then... well, we’ll
certainly have longer than five minutes.” Blue smiled. “Can’t wait.” ~oo0oo~ “Good morning.” Blue returned the greeting as
he sat down opposite his field partner in the staff canteen, having just enough
time before his shift to grab some breakfast. “What’s with the mournful
face? Go on then, tell Uncle Paul all your woes.” Scarlet thought a moment.
“Actually that might take too long, just the latest updates should suffice.” “My father has invited me to
the SvenCorp shareholders garden party.” Blue grimaced. “But, that’s good, isn’t it?
I mean your father wants to spend time with you. In public no less. That’s a
vast improvement on the last… How long have we known each other?” Blue shrugged. “I know, which
is why I have to accept. But you don’t know what those stupid parties are like.
Hours on end eating overpriced canapés, with no one to talk to but the insanely
boring old guys my dad does business with, and by talk, I mean listen as they
tell every excruciating detail of their latest investments.” He looked up
pleadingly. “Paul, you’re my best friend, you have to help me.” “Well I could try and get a
furlough, and go along too for moral support. After all, I must owe you a lot of
favours in return for everything you put up with from me…” Realising that Blue suddenly
didn’t seem to listen to him, Scarlet followed his partner’s gaze over to the
self-service counter by the door, where Destiny was stood, deliberating between
getting a pain au chocolat or triple berry muffin. “I should probably go and
talk to her,” Blue commented. “But, I don’t know… She’s been avoiding me.” “Well to be fair, you have
been avoiding her too.” Scarlet dumped the contents of a sachet into his
coffee. “I know, but… I figure she’ll
talk when she’s ready. I don’t want to pressure her or make her feel any worse.” “It’s understandable to be
awkward, but you need to clear the air, before it gets any more difficult. After
all, she’s just the same friend and colleague we know and like. And so are you.
So go and talk to her.” Blue hesitated. “Honestly, Adam. She only
bites if you buy her dinner first.” Scarlet said that last
sentence a little too loud, and at the next occupied table, Green raised an
eyebrow from over his computer magazine. Scarlet managed to swallow a
mouthful of coffee, but with a shudder and grimace, then set his cup down. “I’ve only gone and put salt
in it again,” he grumbled. Blue choked on a snigger; he
was pretty sure Green would be smirking as well. “I’ll go get you a fresh
drink then,” Blue said amiably. “As you clearly need it to fully wake up.” “Hi, Juliette.” Blue was glad to have spoken
before he got too close; at the sound of his voice, she spun around so quick and
startled he would have probably ended up with a tray of food down his tunic. “Ah, yes. Hello, Captain.” They prepared their
respective hot drinks in silence from the dispenser. Then, when it felt
unbearable Blue spoke: “I’m glad
you’re here, so that we can talk. I know things have been a little awkward
between us.” That was a bit of an
understatement really, considering that, despite living in a confined area with
just under 600 other people, she had, it seemed, made a concerted effort not to
see or speak to him for almost a week. Their mutual friends were starting to get
concerned. “Yes, I perhaps should not
have just ignored the problem,” she said. “That is not a good way to deal with
things.” “I can understand though,” he
assured her. “After everything that’s happened, I didn’t know how to approach
you either, or what to say.” She nodded. “You should not
be ashamed, when it was my father who did such terrible things. I did not want
you to think badly of my family.” Only then did she manage to look him in the
eye. “I hope that you will forgive me.” “There’s nothing to forgive,”
Blue said simply. “I, none of my family, hold any ill feeling towards you. After
all, none of us are our fathers’ keepers.” Knowing that he was sincere,
she looked as if a tonne weight had been lifted from her. “And how are they?
Your family?” “They’re doing well, all
things considered.” “Good. I will pray for them,
that they find comfort.” She smiled, then stopped, embarrassed. “To be thinking
of them, I mean, I know that some people are not so comfortable hearing such
ways of saying things.” “I know what you mean.” Blue
nodded. It wasn’t that their colleagues were intolerant, but the majority
weren’t practising members of any religion, so it was a generally alien concept
to them and made for some self-conscious conversations. “But I’m Lutheran, so
you don’t have to worry about offending me on that score.” “Very reassuring.” It was then Blue noticed a
familiar flash of colour, and a second later, Destiny glanced in the direction
and smothered an expression he knew just as well. If he’d had any doubts before
then, they would have evaporated right there. “I’ll let you get on then,”
Blue said, aware he was using the phrasing Scarlet favoured when it became
obvious he was an un-required extra to the ‘Adam and Karen show’. “I’ve got duty
anyway, but I’ll probably see you later. It’s been good to talk.” “Yes it has. See you then.” By the time Blue returned and
gave Scarlet his coffee, Green’s table had gone from a solitary occupant to
bustling. Grey and Magenta hotly debated the previous night’s basketball game,
in which the team Grey supported had defeated Magenta’s. Destiny had taken a
seat between them, smiling and nodding in response to various points, even
though she knew virtually nothing about American sports; as for Green, he
focused most of his attention on eating, knowing he wouldn’t really get a word
in edgeways. The tableau would have been
completed with Ochre, but he had worked the graveyard shift the previous night,
so was spending his well earnt off-duty time sleeping in. They were regularly
reminded of that by other personnel asking Magenta where he was. It seemed
people really believed field partners always travelled in pairs, or perhaps they
just wanted reassurance that Ochre wasn’t hidden away ready to launch another
practical joke. “I think your brother was
right when he said there was no place like home,” Scarlet said, accepting the
drink. “Maybe, but I can think of a
few better places to call home.” “Such as?” Blue gave a shrug, conceding
slightly. “I’ll have to get back to you
on that one.”
The end
Notes This fic started life as a
3000 word story fragment, written for a creative writing unit of my university
course, hence the ‘experimental’ elements of the writing style. Well the unit
finished, and incidentally I got a very good mark for it, but the plot bunny
still wouldn’t let me go. So I felt compelled to finish it, even through the
‘death’ (and eventual ‘rebirth’) of my hard drive. As it stands this is one of
the longest story I’ve written, and possibly the most intricate, so I hope you
enjoyed reading this as much as I have writing it. Credits Characters
Mary Metcalfe and Dr Weiss
were created by Mary J. Rudy Sarah Svenson is borrowed
from Chris Bishop, Stefan Svenson is courtesy of Marion Woods, Blue is canon of
course, but the other Svensons are mine. The Donaghue’s (with the
obvious exception of Magenta), Morado and Auburn are mine too. Di Witt’s prison is the
creation of Sue Stanhope. Acknowledgements
Chris ~ services to the
fandom above and beyond the call of duty. Also for serving as beta reader, and
saving my story from itself. Davis ~ for the preliminary
read through, encouragement and technical expertise. Marion ~
Beta-extraordinaire, as always, of the first draft. Richard ~ my brother, who
so graciously allowed me to use his computer to write the first draft while mine
was out of commission.
BACK TO FAN FICTION PAGE
Any comments? Send an
E-MAIL
to the SPECTRUM HEADQUARTERS site
|