Subject:  OUT OF THE DARKNESS - Part IV |
Author:
Kitkat
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Date Posted: 19:25:20 11/22/01 Thu
In reply to:
Cathy R. Myers
's message, "Out of the Darkness" on 13:13:16 03/08/01 Thu
OUT OF THE DARKNESS - PART IV
“Were there any survivors?” Operations asked as he joined Birkoff at the computer.
“I’m not sure, sir. No one has called in.”
“Do we have any information at all? Anything to indicate that Michael might still be alive?
“No, sir.”
“Are you still in contact with Nikita?”
“Yes, sir, but she’s getting pretty weak.”
“Keep trying to make contact with Michael and the team, and pull up a schematic on the Red Cell base. The fact that they may have hostages poses too great a security risk. We’ll have to take out the base.”
* * * *
Four armed men drove Michael approximately fifteen miles from the Red Cell compound and left him beside the road. Michael immediately headed for the woods. He set off running at a brisk pace and leaving an obvious trail.
The first trap was easy. The woods were densely covered with climbing vines and young saplings fighting their way to the sunlight. Michael removed his shirt and began carefully tearing it into strips. Bending several of the young saplings and using his make-shift rope to form a loop, Michael constructed a pressure trap. The trap was designed to leave his victim hanging upside down between two of the saplings. Satisfied that his construction would do its job, he sought cover under some nearby foliage and sat down to wait.
Ten minutes later, his patience was rewarded. The unwary Red Cell tracker raised his leg to step over a log blocking his way, and in so doing, stepped neatly into the trap. His step broke the angled branch set as the trigger, dislodged the rope, and freed the anchored saplings. Instantly breaking his neck, the man died without making a sound, and hung suspended above the ground.
Michael cut him down quickly and hid the body in the nearby underbrush. He donned the man’s Red Cell uniform, taking his guns, ammunition, and anything else which could prove useful. Needing to draw out the other trackers, Michael fired twice into the air and waited, hoping to receive a message on the cell phone which he had removed from the dead man.
The call came almost immediately. “Hey, Stephens, was that you? Did you get him?”
Michael made his voice almost a groan as he replied, “Help me. Help me. I’m wounded. Please. . . I need help.” He let his voice fade away and sought cover. His plan was a success and within a few minutes, both of the other trackers had been eliminated. Michael recognized the three dead men as the escorts who accompanied him on the trip from the Red Cell compound. Believing the fourth man to have remained with the car, he felt relatively safe in continuing on his self-appointed mission.
Although continuing to behave with caution Michael headed for the paved road, hoping that it would lead him into the next town. He stayed beside the road, traveling just within the cover of the trees where the undergrowth was thinner and easier to transverse. Michael continued to travel in this manner for over two hours.
Finally, physically exhausted and unable to travel any further, he sat down and leaned against a tree. This was madness, and time for Nikita was running out. He pulled the note from his pocket, starring at the words until they blurred before his eyes. Nikita. . .oh, Nikita. Michael closed his eyes and let the pictures parade across the stage of his consciousness. He saw Nikita twisting her long, blonde hair into a knot, preparing for a mission. He saw her taking it down as he removed her blouse in preparation for a night of love-making. Pictures of Nikita angry and defiant intermingled with pictures of her warm body, soft and yielding. They struck repeated blows to the ever-expanding ache in his heart until the pain was almost more than he could bear.
Michael remembered the first time that he met Nikita. Her eyes, wild with fear, had even then etched their mark upon his heart. Michael remembered the first time that he met Nikita . . . Michael remembered . . .Michael remembered. . .
Michael stood to his feet, his physical needs forgotten. He must get to town and to a computer immediately. He walked to the road and began to thumb for a ride. Whatever risks must be taken—must be taken. Two cars passed by without slowing down, but the third car stopped. An elderly gentleman rolled down his window.
“Do you need a ride into town, son?”
Michael ran his fingers through his tangled hair and tried to appear amiable. “Yes, sir,” he said. “My car broke down a few miles back, and I need to get to a repair shop. I would be so grateful for a ride.”
The old man smiled. “Hop in then. I’m on my way to the bank, and I’d be more than happy to drop you off. Do you live around here?”
Michael worked his way into the front seat, carefully concealing his guns from the old man’s gaze. His jacket firmly in place, he closed the door. “No, sir. I’m visiting some relatives.” He quickly went on to another topic before the man could question him further. “Do you know of any place in town where I might use a computer?”
The old man laughed. “Don’t know much about computers. Might try the library. Seems like I remember seeing some computers in there.”
“Do you think that you could drop me by the library? Would that be out of your way?” Michael asked, using his most charming and persuasive tone of voice.
“No, not at all,” the old man said. “But what about your car?” he asked, clearly puzzled and concerned.
“Oh, it will be fine. I was on my way to town to deliver a rather urgent message when it broke down. I’ll feel a lot better with the message out of the way. The car will still be waiting.” Michael forced himself to laugh.
The old man laughed too and seemed satisfied with his explanation.
When they reached the library the old man parked the car. “Sometimes, folks in this town are funny about strangers and lately, we’ve had more than our share. When I first came here from the States people didn’t like me at all. Got used to me though. I’m going to make sure that they treat you right. While you’re writing your message, I’ll have me a look around. Might even find a book to read.”
Although, at first, reluctant to accept the old man’s help, Michael conceded that the man might be right, and he didn’t relish the idea of taking over a computer at gun point. Once inside, things went smoothly. With the old man to vouch for him, Michael was given access to an on-line computer almost immediately. Now, all that he had to do was to connect with the satellite and imput the digital codes that would patch him into the Section computer.
* * * *
“What do you have for me, Birkoff?
“The profile has been downloaded, sir, and the teams are standing by.”
“Are you still in contact with Nikita?”
Birkoff shook his head. “The last response I got was over two hours, ago.”
“Any word from Michael? No, sir.” Birkoff straightened his glasses and starred at the screen, as if willing it to give him the information that he wanted.
Operations, also, starred at the screen. “Could you bring the schematic back up?”
“Sure”
“There’s something I’d like to double check.”
Birkoff worked his magic, and the schematic appeared on the screen. Both of the men were intently studying the monitor when, suddenly, the screen went blank.
“What’s going on, Birkoff?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Birkoff began to pound frantically at the keyboard, his fingers flying over the keys. Moving quickly, he began to try the computer next to him. He was about to move further down the line, when Operations called him back.
“Birkoff, we’re getting something. It looks like a message.”
Birkoff returned to look at the screen. “It is a message. It’s from Michael. He says that he knows where Nikita is buried.” Birkoff stopped talking and turned to look up at Operations, surprise etched firmly across his face, his mouth hanging open.
Operations broke the silence. “Well, what did he say? Where is she?”
Birkoff shook off his surprise and blinked rapidly before giving his answer, “Michael says that she’s here—that she’s here in the cemetery.” He paused as if trying to come to terms with the information that he was given. “He says that she’s in Row 8, Plot 30.”
“Deploy the teams!”
The End of Part IV
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