[stmercy2020]

Well, it took me a little longer to finish this up than I'd intended- blame it on the joys of preparing to move.  I spent a solid two-and-a-half hours trying to sort out my DSL hookup for my move.  Fortunately, that seems to be sorted out, now.

Anyway, this chapter was kind of fun to write.  Less bloody than the previous chapters, but I had fun introducing my very own Maser Rackham (if you're familiar with Orson Scott Card, you'll easily recognize the scene- it's a pretty blatant homage) and a new bad guy that I think is going to recur at least a couple of times…

Oh, and because I know that these things tend to get lost and buried over time, here are the links to the previous chapters:
Chapter One: http://amaz0ns.com/option,com_smf/Itemid,135/topic,5697.0/
Chapter Two: http://amaz0ns.com/option,com_smf/Itemid,135/topic,5705.0/

And here goes Chapter Three:

Cold Fury
by: stmercy2020
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA.

Chapter Three
Tris learns what the traditional reward for a job well done is…

September, 1999
Devin Andersen and Susan Kalen sat in a small office overlooking St. Ermin’s Hill Road.  They were on what the British amusingly referred to as the first story, apparently because buildings that didn’t have an upstairs didn’t warrant a number.  A wide, wooden desk dominated the space, and the room was nearly crowded with the addition of two low-backed antique chairs and a tall, thin floor lamp.  The floor was some dark hardwood, waxed to a glossy shine, and a simple throw rug lay across the entrance.

Andersen, a plain man in his early thirties, was shuffling through the papers in front of him on the desk.  He hadn’t said a word for several minutes, and Susan was beginning to feel uncomfortable as she sat at attention in the other chair, facing him.  Finally, after another minute of intense concentration, he spoke.  “It’s a very interesting after-action report, Ms. Kalen,” he said.  Even his voice was unassuming, the kind of voice you would expect from a banker or a realtor.  “What’s your opinion?”

Susan, just pushing forty, now, was of the opinion that she’d met snakes with more warmth and human kindness than Mr. Andersen, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.  “Well, sir, I don’t think she’s lying.  I took a look at the police report the bobbies filed after her operation-”

Andersen waved a hand irritably.  “Tris doesn’t know enough yet to know when to lie, let alone how.  I meant, what is your assessment of her performance?”

“Truth, sir?  I think she’s a little soft.  She got the job done, true enough, but she left a lot of witnesses.  She should have either made sure of both security teams, or she should have waited for a better opportunity.  She got lucky.”

“Did any of the witnesses see her face?”

“I don’t believe so, sir.  It wasn’t in her report, in any case.  She spoke with one of them, though- a Michael Branson, according to the police report.”

“Jesse Brooks,” he said, suddenly changing directions.  He did that, Susan had noticed.  It was probably intended to keep his subordinates a little off-balance.  It worked.  “Her treatment of him was pretty severe, don’t you think?”
“Given her wounds, no sir.  I think it was desperate, but not over-the-top.”

Andersen grunted, put the file down.  “All right.  I think it’s time for us to step up her training.  I especially want you to emphasize more of the sleight-of-hand and stealth skills.  Also, let’s start her on some personal interaction courses- seduction, of course, and other methods of persuasion.”

Susan made a note.

“How is she, physically?” Andersen asked.

“She seemed all right when she gave her report, although she did favor her left side just a bit.”

“I’m a little concerned about her weight, actually,” Andersen drawled.

Susan was confused.  “Why, sir?  She’s quite healthy.  Granted, she’s a little heavy, but her percentage bodyfat is actually quite low.”

“Yes, that’s exactly the problem.  I want you to keep a close eye on her.  I’ve seen her mother, you know.  Tris has the potential to be the sort of operative who can easily use sex appeal as a weapon, but probably not if she becomes too lean.”

“Honestly, sir,” Susan remarked dryly, “I don’t think that’s likely to be a problem.”

Andersen nodded.  “All right, Ms. Kalen.  Good work.  I need to finish going through the files on the late Mr. Brooks computer.  I may have another assignment for our young prodigy by the end of the week.”

“Yes, sir.  Very good.”  Susan collected her things and left the room.

*****

Bethany’s parents had been thrilled when, out of the blue, she had come home.  They were more than a little worried because of how drawn she looked, and the doctor they hired confirmed that whoever had been holding her hadn’t done her any favors.  She was undernourished, having lost nearly five kilograms, and her skin looked loose on her frame.  The doctor also noted that she had suffered cracked ribs and severe bruising on her upper arm and shoulder.  By the time Bethany was physically fit to return to school, she had missed so much time in class that the headmaster recommended that she transfer to a private school, which she did.  Today was her first day.

Stockwell Park High School was the length of a city block and three stories tall.  It was gray stone and looked as dreary and uninviting as the fog off the Thames in early April.  Bethany knew no one there and hoped no one would recognize her from the press clippings that had been released when she was kidnapped.  She trudged up the steps in her slightly oversized hoodie- had it really fit only a month ago?- and paused just as she reached the door.  Just ahead of her was that girl.

She was tall, maybe eight centimeters taller than Bethany, and very slender.  No, on second thought, slender wasn’t quite the right word.  She was tight.  Like a coiled spring, powerful but contained.  And, seen from behind, she was an enigma.  She wore a light windbreaker, no hood.  Her ginger hair was the bright color of Sandys’s Mary Magdelene, but cut short, barely longer than the bottom of her jaw.  Her shoulders were hunched forwards as if carrying a heavy load.  Bethany was so startled that she actually put her hand out to grab the girl.  “Excuse me,” she began, “do you go here, too?”

The girl turned and Bethany saw a flicker of recognition behind her intriguing cat-like eyes before her expression turned blank again.  “Yeah,” she admitted warily.

“Oh!” said Bethany, surprised.  “You’re American.”

“Is it that obvious?” she asked ruefully.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude,” Bethany apologized.

“It’s okay.  I’m Tris,” she said holding out her hand.  Bethany shook it and was surprised by the strength of Tris’s grip.  “So.  What d’you need?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.  I just thought I recognized you is all.  I’m Bethany.”

Tris smiled, the expression looking slightly unfamiliar on her face, as if those muscles hadn’t been exercised much recently.  “Pleased to meet you, Bethany.”

She really wasn’t giving anything away, but Bethany was positive it was her- the girl who’s rescued her from her own private Hell just two weeks earlier.  “Um, look- can you help me find the headmaster’s office?  I’m afraid I’m not really familiar with the building.”

Tris appeared to consider for a moment, then shrugged.  “Sure.  I’ll walk you down.”

*****

Tris was concerned.  Bethany had actually recognized her.  She was sure of that much.  She didn’t know how, but Bethany had somehow seen her and known who she was, and that was a problem.  It shouldn’t have been possible- Tris had been completely covered from head to toe, had been badly hurt- the only thing that she could possibly have seen that was the same were her eyes.  Hell, she even walked differently in her street clothes, a deliberate affectation that had taken her the better part of six months to really get right.

She hoped this wouldn’t mean any sort of drastic change.  In her judgement, Bethany posed no serious threat, either to her cover, or to her personally.  Still, she had reported it just as soon as she got to The Academy that evening.  Ms. Kalen had been quiet for a moment, than said she would have to discuss the matter with someone farther up the food chain.

Now she was working out.  She still stretched and did the kata her father had taught her before (he died) she moved out here.  For awhile, she had also practiced sparring, but it quickly became clear that her hand-to-hand technique was superior even to the best instructors they had here.  Now, when they wanted to challenge her, they rigged the matches- multiple opponents, limited valid target areas, non-combat objectives.  She was enjoying it less and less, both because she didn’t like the game aspect of the training and because she was starting to feel like her teachers really were out to get her.

Today was supposed to be another day of weapon training- they had hired some guy- Rafael Umpad- to teach her balisong knife techniques- but she was really feeling no desire to play.  Instead, against regulations, she headed through the locker rooms and into the pool, figuring to swim laps until the ache in her muscles drove all thoughts from her head.  She had done the first fifty laps butterfly.  She was proud of being able to maintain a constant and powerful stroke while swimming butterfly, as most girls her age and many boys found it to be very difficult for even a few laps.  Now, feeling the burn in her stomach, she was swimming freestyle.  She had been in the pool for more than an hour- she really didn’t know how long, and didn’t care- and she was still cutting through the water cleanly, smoothly.  It was getting harder to find her breath, though, and she was definitely feeling the burn all over her body from the constant resistance the water gave.  She knew that she would be sweating hard when she finally got out of the water.

A man was kneeling at the side of the pool.  Finishing her last lap, Tris pulled herself up to the wall and began to hoist herself out of the water.  The man stood up.  He was very short- barely more than a meter and a half- and built along the same stocky lines as her grandfather or her father.  His skin was deeply tanned and his face was round with deep set eyes and bushy white eyebrows.  His hair, what there was of it, was also white, thin, and wreathed around the crown of his head like a curly, wispy cloud.  He wore only a long pair of dark green swimming trunks and carried a towel.  Actually, Tris realized as she got her foot onto the gutter, he’s carrying my towel.

The man casually reached out a hand as if to help Tris out of the pool and she reached for it.  Without changing expression, he turned his wrist and stepped closer, shoving Tris back with his other hand.  Caught utterly off guard, Tris flailed for a moment and dropped back in the water.  Sputtering, Tris virtually shot out of the water, only to discover that the man had returned to his previous position, sitting by the side of the pool.

“Hey,” she demanded angrily, “what the Hell was that?”

The man appeared not to have even heard her and merely sat watching the pool.  Cautiously, Sylph approached him.  He still wore her towel over his neck, but he made no move as she came near.  Watching him closely, she reached out her hand.  Still nothing.  She snatched her towel and quickly stepped back out of reach.  He didn’t even stir.  Shaking her head in bewilderment, Tris turned and started walking to her locker.

The old man was up and moving so swiftly and silently that it was breathtaking.  Tris didn’t even have a moment to react as he stepped up from behind her and reached an arm around in front of her, jamming her back against his thigh.  This time Tris fell backwards, but before she could come to her feet, he had grabbed her arm and rolled her onto her belly.  He pounced on her, then, and grabbed her chin with both hands, pulling up on her head while keeping her shoulders firmly pressed to the concrete surrounding the pool.

His voice, when he spoke, was soft and rusty from disuse and age.  “You are younger than me.  Stronger.  Faster.  No doubt you can endure far more than I can.  But you are stupid, girl.  That is how I can beat you.  That is how I have beaten you not once, but twice.”

He finally let go and hopped off of Tris, taking her towel with him once again.  Tris, thoroughly embarrassed, angry for having been made a fool of so easily, and sore from her skinned wrists and elbows, bounced to her feet and faced the old man, ready to attack.  He stood there utterly passively, his back to the pool.  Tris was only confused for an instant, than she lunged for him.  He didn’t dodge, simply allowed her momentum to carry her into him.  As they fell towards the pool, he flipped Tris’s towel up over her head, wrapped it tightly, and twisted savagely.

Tris panicked, trying desperately to push the wiry old man away, but couldn’t gain leverage while tumbling in the water.  Her arms, already tired, began to feel heavy, as if weights were attached to them.  She saw spots in front of her eyes, felt bile rising in her throat, then nothing.

Tris awoke lying on her side next to the pool.  She coughed and spit up chlorinated water.  Rolling over, she realized the old man was still there, his back turned to her.

“What’d you do to me,” Tris asked hoarsely.

“I cut off the blood supply to your brain.  A tight choke can render a grown man in peak condition unconscious in less than fifteen seconds, did you know that?”

Tris was aware, now, of how cold she was.  She was still wet and her towel, lying on the ground next to her, wasn’t likely to be any help.  “Okay…” she said, her temper starting to flare again, “why did you do that to me?”

“Why did you let me?  You knew I was a threat, yet you seriously underestimated me not just once, but twice.”  He turned around.  “I am your new instructor.  Ms. Kalen feels that you have outgrown your current set of teachers.”

“She never told me anything about it,” Tris complained.

“Do you always warn an enemy before you attack?”

Tris thought about it.  “Are we enemies, then?” she asked, finally.

“Only so much as you need me to be in order to make you stronger.  But I will decide that, not you.  You must learn to be ready at all times.  You have been lucky so far- lucky that your opponents have underestimated you, lucky that you had the element of surprise- but your good fortune cannot last forever, and then you must also be good.”

“I am good,” Tris objected, stung.

“Really.  I’m an old man.  The first time you laid eyes on me, you trusted me implicitly.  The only reason you are not dead right now is because I chose to let you live.  And I chose to let you live not once, but three times.”

Tris couldn’t argue with that, so she didn’t.  She glared at the old man angrily.

“Oh, come now,” he laughed.  “Your pride is hurt, but nothing else.  Our lesson for the day is ended and you have not fared too badly.”

“I don’t like being made the fool,” she grated through her teeth.

“No one does.  If that is all you’ve learned from today’s lesson, so be it.  Don’t allow me to make you the fool again, because I will surely try.”

It was no use, she realized.  She could attack him and, probably, overpower him, but it didn’t change the truth of what he said.  She sighed.  “Okay.  I get it.  What’s your name?”

“When you’ve earned it, I’ll tell you,” he said, but the twinkle in his eyes took the sting out of his words.

*****

Andersen sighed and sat back in his chair.  “All right, Susan.  I’ll let you play out your lead in training her.  I expect her to be fully operational by the end of the year, though.  I think there’re a couple of assignments that may call for just her special touch.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ms. Kalen nodded.

Mr. Andersen went on.  “This Bethany girl poses no threat, I think, but I’m curious about her.  Have Tris get close to her.  Find out about her family, her medical records- eventually, it may become necessary to bring her in.”

Ms. Kalen made a note on the pad in front of her.  “Anything else, sir?”

“Yes.  I have a simple snatch-and-grab.  I would like Tris to handle it.  It should be fairly safe- no major players, low security- a good test to see how well Tris is coming along.”

“Sir?”

“We uncovered payments to a man working at the Clinique de Flandre.  We’ve followed the money trail as far as we could and it seems the man does research in the field of human genetics and modification.  We think Tris should infiltrate the clinic and copy his files.  I’ve brought a dossier with everything we have concerning the good doctor and the layout of the grounds.  Tris’s job will be to get in, get the files, and get out without anyone realizing that she’s been there or that anything has been taken.  Is she up to it?”

Susan hesitated.  Tris’s last mission had been violent.  It was a success, but it was hardly what anyone would describe as clean.  On the other hand, Tris had managed to escape with all of her objectives completed and without leaving traceable evidence of her presence.  Finally she nodded.  “Assuming she gets reasonable support this time around, yes.”

“Very good.  I want her briefed and airborne Friday night.  She’ll have until Sunday to complete the mission and get back to the extraction point.”

*****

Tris tried adjusting the straps of the parachute for what must have been the hundredth time, shifted on the hard bench of the MH-6J Little Bird helicopter.  She tried hard not to look out the window.

“First time flying in one of these babies?” the pilot yelled across to her.

“It’s my first time in any kind of helicopter,” she yelled back.

“Nothing to worry about!  This your first jump, then?”

“Yeah!  It’s a little scary!” Tris shouted, biting back the waves of nausea.

“Nothing like flying one of these in combat,” the marine bellowed.  “That’s like taking a shower in a glass stall!”

“What?” Tris asked, confused.

“You’re naked, and everybody’s lookin’ at you,” the marine laughed.

Tris laughed.  Somehow if the pilot was able to laugh, she felt reassured.  It was just after 11:30 and they were nearly on top of the Clinique de Flandre.  Tris really hoped she wouldn’t have to speak to anyone, because her French was less than perfect.  Tell the truth, she thought to herself, I sound like I’ve stuffed my mouth full of rocks.

“Okay,” the pilot yelled again, “it’s time to go.  You need to make your way back north to Universite du Littoral by midnight tomorrow for extraction.  Good luck, soldier!”

“I’m not a soldier,” Tris shot back, “but thanks!”  She booted open the door and stepped out.

*****

Renaldo made his way up the back steps of the Clinique de Flandre.  His employer, some functionary in British Intelligence, had made it very clear that it was imperative that he remain completely undetected for this operation.  Fortunately, that wasn’t likely to be a problem.  The building itself had a number of alarms, but no cameras.  And the alarms were easy enough to bypass if you had Renaldo’s peculiar gifts.

Once through the door at the top of the stairs, Renaldo pressed himself up against the wall and got his bearings.  The hall lights were dimmed to one-third luminescence, and no one was supposed to be on this floor at this hour of the night.  One of the joys of working reception in a private clinic, he supposed, was that you didn’t have to man the desks at all hours.  He quickly hopped over the desk and started rifling through the files, trying to find the good doctor’s room.

Fifth floor.  Perfect.  He took out a paper map and plotted his route in his mind.  The ground floor served as the administrative level.  The security office was around here, somewhere, but the guard force was lax.  The first through the third floor were all used for actual patients.  There were nurse’s stations located near the stairs and the elevators on each floor, and they were staffed constantly.  The fourth floor was mostly equipment and chemical storage.  The top two stories were reserved for the various research projects.

He noticed a light flash on the panel in front of him- a door was open on the roof.  That’s odd, he thought, then reached over and flicked a switch, turning the alarm off.  Well, well, he mused, a visitor.

Slipping up the stairs, Renaldo made his way to the fifth floor.  He hoped his midnight visitor wasn’t going to be a problem, but he was cynical enough not to believe it.  He hurried to his target, slipped through the door and quickly found the files he was going to need.  Removing his glove, he allowed his skin to caress the pages, memorizing the variants in shading.  He grinned mirthlessly as his hand started glowing softly.  I am my own photocopier.

He heard something metallic in the door’s lock.  Not a key, he thought as he finished with his last sheet and put his glove back on.  The door opened.  Renaldo found himself looking at a tall girl dressed entirely in black.  She stared back at him.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she hissed, shocked.

I’m never going to get a more perfect exit line…  Renaldo shrugged, turned and dove for the window, shattering it with his momentum.

*****

Tris was shocked only for an instant, than she dove forward, already knowing she would be too late.  He’s insane! she thought wildly.  Looking out the window, she saw him running away down the Rue du Boernhol.

“Shit,” she whispered.  Turning back to the desk, she realized he’d been holding the same files she was looking for.  Security is bound to be up here any minute, she thought.

She scooped up the files, stuffed them in her lightweight backpack and sprinted for the door.  She couldn’t afford to get caught inside the building.  Any delay and the Dunkerque police would surround the building, thus completely ending her mission.  And it wasn’t like she had a diplomatic cover, either.  If she was caught here, she would rot here.

Reaching the stairs, she paused for an instant.  Up or down?  If she went up, she’d get to open space faster, but she’d be way too high for any sort of heroic jump to freedom.  She’d always hated how people ran up when they were trying to escape pursuers in movies.  Down was the better option, but it almost guaranteed she’d have to fight someone on the way out, and she really didn’t want to do that either.  She could already hear people moving around along the stair wells.  Clinging tightly to the wall, she slipped down a story.

It sounded like the guards were on the first floor, now.  They’d have to go fairly slowly to make sure she didn’t get by them or hide among the patients.  She tried to remember what her father had told her about falls- it’s possible to survive a fall from as much as thirty feet if you’re lucky, he’d said.  Any more than that and you’re hamburger.

She needed to get down to the second floor at a minimum.  She descended another two stories.  She could hear guards starting to move from the first floor up to the second.  Tris dashed down to the next landing, exciting sudden cries of alarm from the forward elements of the guard detail.  They started moving towards her while one at the back began chattering on his hand-held.  Tris turned and hopped up on the railing.

  Several guards shouted at her, the only word she made out was, “Non!”  She prayed she was close enough and, as the first guard reached to grab her, she dove across the space in the stairwell.  Her aim was good, but she was just not quite strong enough to leap the full distance.  She hit the landing a little low, missed going over the railing, and started to tumble back.  She scrabbled with her arms and found purchase with her right, her whole bodyweight falling heavily against her shoulder.  Her deltoid screamed from the sudden, tearing pressure, but she managed to hold on, swinging her left back up to find purchase on the landing between the first and second floors.

Guards were already reaching her new position.  Oh shit, she thought, blinking back tears, this is gonna hurt!

She let go and felt herself dropping through open space.  Her feet hit first, but she let them collapse under her, falling backwards and continuing the roll.  The shock traveled all the way from her ankles to her collarbones.  It felt like being hit by a truck.  She prayed nothing was actually broken as she staggered to her feet.  She pushed through the door into the ground floor of the building.  She guessed she only had another two minutes before the Police Nationale would arrive on the scene.  She couldn’t afford to tangle with them, she decided.  They would come in force, and, unlike the British constabulary, they would come with guns.

She picked a door at random, tested the handle and ducked inside.  There was a window on the far wall and, beyond the window, freedom.  Moving swiftly, she forced open the window, then pressed all her weight against the screen on the other side, popping it out.  Almost sobbing with relief, Tris climbed out the window and dropped the roughly two meters to the ground.  She could hear sirens, but they were still a ways off.  She had time to get clear, get to populated areas, and disappear.

[demented20]

Sorry for the slow reply, but another well written chapter. I really like how you don't let Tris get into a routine. As soon as she does, they shake her up. Keep it going. Waiting on the next instalment.

[Author]

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