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Date Posted: 14:24:52 02/26/01 Mon
In reply to:
Deborah Laymon
's message, "With a little help from my friends" on 11:45:41 02/26/01 Mon
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Ackerman's voice rose over the amphibian's engine. "I've got station contact, boys and girls. Coming into dock."
Rachel heard it through the speaker in the head. She finished, hit the incinerate, pulled up her trousers, and zipped up before ducking out of the cubicle. The mud she'd picked up on her skin had dried and glued her sweater to her body. She'd have to soak everything in the shower to peel off the clothes. Michael glanced up as she came out. Simone, asleep, stirred and sighed. She looked flushed. "Nerves are showing," he said. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Third time." "It's been six hours," she said, irritated at his tone. "Just because your urethra is six inches longer than mine--" And because the first time had been her stomach deciding that the crisis was over and now she could throw up. His eyebrows arched. "And how do you know it's six inches?" "I usually say four. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt." To her shock, he laughed. Rarely could she get a laugh out of Michael. More than that, the expression on his face might even have been called friendly. And then, he capped the shock by leaning a little closer and saying to her in French, "You should give me more benefit than that, Che," using Simone's pet name for her. Heat rushed up her face. She could have cursed him to Calgary and back for being able to make her blush, but that would only have made it worse. "How's she doing?" The friendly expression faded to the usual inscrutable Michael-face. "She's breathing better. But her temperature's still up." "A bon droit," she said. "With all that shit we were crawling through. It didn't hit her in the heart; she's got all the chances in the world, Michael." He nodded, and said nothing else. Lin Yao and the Capetown sub-station had medical personnel on hand. From the color of the uniforms, military medical personnel seconded from local authorities. Rachel dug the hard disk and the cube of diskettes from the inside pocket of her Kevlar vest, all intact, and handed them to Lin. Ackerman watched her do so, as inexpressive as Michael at his worst. His lack of expression worried Rachel. Ackerman's memory was exceptional. If he remembered Simone insisting that Michael had the codes, and couldn't pin down a moment when Michael might have handed the codes to her, then there might be problems. Michael stood by as they moved Simone onto a gurney. Lin Yao glanced at him. Her eyes narrowed. She tried to sound casual. "Operations wants a immediate update." "You haven't looked at the data yet." "He wants an update on how the mission went." The Chinese woman waited a beat, then added, "Now." Ackerman said, "Inventory." "I'll do the inventory," Rachel said. It would have been her or Simone anyway, and she found the mindless minutiae soothing after a mission. "I'll do the update to C&C," Ackerman said. "How long should I give you, Michael?" Michael answered without looking up. "I'll get myself checked out in Medical; be with you in fifteen minutes. We've got twenty-four hours of our window left." Medical pushed the gurney down the hall. Michael walking alongside. As soon as they were out of earshot, Ackerman glanced at Rachel. "Don't think Operations will look at it that way." She shrugged. "Give me your gear. Ordinance likes this stuff signed back in ASAP." "Better you than me," he muttered. Lin Yao put both hands on her hips and glared at him. "Operations said now." "I'm right with you," he said. Rachel headed off for Ordinance. She worked at the end of a counter, under the eyes of the operative of the day, ticking items off one by one, marking them in via panel and system, using the specific infrared codes inscribed on barrels and magazines to speed up the check-in. She found no listing for the stun grenade she'd coaxed out of Walter. Tabarnak de ostie de... She'd have to get to him and tell him to backfill the item before Ackerman mentioned the grenade. The dried mud under her sweater flaked and scraped as she moved. She scratched under her arm, then rubbed the flat of her hand over her chest. Shower. After this, she was going to find time somehow to get a shower, even if she had to go back to Section naked. She neared the end of the checklist. Heavy boots thudded against the concrete floor. The rhythm sounded familiar, and she glanced up at the polished steel wall across from her. She recognized Ackerman's face, blurred as it was by the imperfect mirror. "I'm nearly done." He leaned over her shoulder. "Thorough," he said. "Thank you." Nothing else followed. He continued to read over her shoulder. She hated having someone read over her shoulder, and she'd told him so in the past. Rachel gritted her teeth, then stolidly finished the checklist. After she signed off on the pad and the terminal, she got the officer on duty to initial it, and turned to Ackerman. "You seen Michael?" She shook her head. "Suppose he's still in Medical." Ackerman's hair was rumpled, as if he'd been running his fingers through it, and his mouth set in a thin sour line, as if he'd eaten lemons. "C&C not happy?" "Operations says we woke up half the arms dealers in this corner of the country. Source says they got a hunt out for us. The only ones they have pictures of are Michael and Simone, but they know there was at least one other man and woman.." "How'd they get pictures?" Ackerman's expression soured further. "Seems there must have been a camera our intel didn't mention." "Merde!" "Yeah." Ackerman ran both hands through his hair, giving himself a cockatoo plume moussed with mud and sweat. "Anyway, you and I are to split up on commercial air, and Michael and Simone are going back courtesy of South African military transport." He nodded towards the door. "Report to Housekeeping, clean up, and meet us in Medical." Housekeeping handed over clothing and her personal gear left in storage, then pointed her to the showers. Rachel stood under the warm water, nausea finally washing away with the mud swirling down the drain. She scrubbed herself clean, shampooed her hair until it squeaked between her fingers, until the only thing she could smell on herself was the antiseptic odor of soap. Housekeeping didn't hand out much in the way of toiletries, and she'd learned to keep certain things in her kit: toothpaste, toothbrush, deodorant, cosmetics, mousse, comb and brush. As far as clothes went, the decision had apparently been made to turn her into a Belgian tourist. The passport called her Gisèle Martin from Soignies, and showed past stamps for several EU countries, as well as for Saudi Arabia, South Africa, and Madagascar. Madagascar? what the hell... The initial ticket was for Sabena Airlines; once she reached Brussels, she'd make a stop for further papers and another ticket. She checked the insert for those instructions. Section Four sub-station, Brussels, Madou. Section Four . She'd have to ask: she remembered Operations saying something at some time about Section Four being mostly intel brokerage, but her memory could be faulty. The clothes were reasonable for someone going from Capetown to Brussels: lightweight beige trousers, cream silk blouse, and a lined raincoat. Rachel dressed and sat down on a bench to read over her brief. Gisèle Martin was an executive secretary for a law firm in Soignies, late thirties, with a interest in African art and culture. Some specific behavior points were mentioned, along with a retiring personality and a taste for camomile tea: several packets of which were in a zipped bag tucked into her personal gear. Rachel shuddered, then memorized the instructions. Then she dropped the paper into a toilet and watched it dissolve before relieving herself and flushing. She considered her hair a moment. Then she rubbed mousse into her hair, took the brush and the hair dryer, and turned the hair into a full soft mass of curls: her executive-secretary-middle-aged-spinster's harmless attempt to look like a girl on a jaunt to liven up her boring life. Rachel opened the cosmetic kit, flicked through its options, and chose a palette that added five years to her age. A good cover. People will be terrified I'll talk to them. Now on to see Simone. Well, and Ackerman. And Michael. But mostly Simone. She knew immediately which treatment room her team mates occupied: it was the one that all the medical personnel avoided. The clear glass door showed her Ackerman's back, blocking the hospital bed and giving no clue to Michael's position. Rachel offered up a silent prayer that she wasn't going to have to break up another pissing contest between the two men, put her fingers to the electronic latch, and stepped in as the door slid aside. Ackerman's shoulders were set, his arms folded across his chest. Simone lay in the hospital bed in the room's center. She was awake, and her wide dark eyes flicked back and forth between Erich Ackerman and Michael as if watching a tennis match. Beneath the white Section linen, the chest tube snaked down the bed, draining into a bag. Simone's coloring was better; not pink given her Vietnamese heritage, but not the unnerving pale shocky look of earlier hours. As the door slid into the wall, Ackerman turned to eye her. "Not too bad," he said. "Wish to hell they'd get you out of beige." "Talk to wardrobe," she said. "I wear what they give me." He snorted. Wardrobe had been either kind or unkind to him, depending on your point of view. A navy pin-striped suit, double-breasted, widened the line of his shoulders. He tugged briefly at the navy tie, ran a finger around the button-down collar of the white suit. If she'd had to guess, she'd have said he was either a noveau riche businessman or a hired gun. From the look on his face, a hired gun. Michael startled her. He uncrossed his arms and said in a tone she'd previously heard him use only to Simone: "What Bice tells them to give you." "I'm usually working one of her profiles," Rachel said. She kept her voice neutral. Walter had warned her never to bad-mouth a profiler. Why should Michael sound so -- protective? Ackerman put his hands in his pockets. He stared at Michael. "I don't like the bitch and I don't trust her either, but I'm not entirely convinced." "Convinced about what?" Rachel looked from Michael to Ackerman. They were squared off, not as if about to explode into physical disagreement, but as if debating a change in a mission. Simone got Rachel's name out, then coughed. Dropping any interest in the men's argument, Rachel went to Simone. Thin strong fingers curled around hers. Simone jerked her chin at the two, and murmured, "Just listen." "She's Operations' recruit," Ackerman said, as if Rachel were no longer in the room. "Why would Bice risk injuring her?" "Same reason she might risk injuring Simone." Michael returned the volley. "Bice takes her orders from Operations. She's head of Psy Ops. Why would she risk that?" Michael leaned back against the wall. "Bice's loyal to herself. And maybe to Adrian." Rachel looked at Simone. Who's Adrian? I know Bice's never liked me, but... you don't have to like someone to work with them, even in Section. "Adrian's been out of the picture over ten years." "Adrian's alive. She's not out of the picture as long as she's alive," Michael returned. "And Bice's still got her job because Operations is willing to use a psychopath." "The term nowadays is sociopath," Rachel interjected. Both of them looked at her. Ackerman scowled. "You might show a little gratitude." "C'est foutrement lofoque! For what? I don't even know what you two are jabbering about!" Simone's fingers squeezed. "Easy, easy, cherie. We've all got your best interests at heart." Rachel studied the three of them. Michael, never easy to read, never easy to guess where he stood. Ackerman, bad-tempered at the best of times. Simone, next to Walter, one of the few people in Section Rachel trusted. "And how did I earn this largesse?" Ackerman rolled his eyes. Over her head, he said to Michael, "Mouthy. Got guts, I grant you, but distinctly mouthy." "Yes, I know." Michael finally looked at Rachel. "Che. You're going back..." "Via Sabena Airlines to Brussels. I've memorized my instructions." "Don't interrupt," he said. "Listen to me. You get back to Central, you do what I say. I probably won't be there yet; Simone can't travel for another couple of days..." Rachel glanced down at Simone, worried again. Michael swore. Michael never swore. He added, "Fais-toi attention!" Rachel jumped. "Pardon!" She got a harsh nod from him before he continued in an equally cutting tone. "When you report in, they'll send you directly to debriefing. Or they should. No matter where they send you, you demand to see Operations." For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. "What?" "He's your mentor." "He's Operations!" "Still your mentor. This is procedure, Che. On a mission where intel was bad, you have the right to demand review. Bice was the profiler. Protocol entitles you to go to your mentor or to her superior." He paused. "Your advantage. Your mentor is her superior." Rachel shook her head. "No. I don't want to ask for favors from..." Ackerman's fingers bit into her shoulder. "Shut up and don't argue with the man. You're not asking for favors. Any first level would do it. You're brave enough to pull a stunt like the one you pulled tonight, you can do something simple like this." She twisted to stare at him. Ackerman agreeing with Michael was like the sun rising in the west. Simone's fingers tightened on hers again, as the younger woman spoke up. The Asian-flavored voice was little stronger than before, but as always, Simone got everyone's attention. "Boys! That's enough. Don't frighten her any more than you have to. Go away and let us have a little girl talk before she leaves." Michael's eyes narrowed, and he stared at his wife. Ackerman only grunted and said, "Frighten, hell. Got more brass'n a full magazine." But Erich Ackerman obliged, stepping outside the door. Michael managed to give the impression that his feet had been cemented into the floor. "Michael." Simone turned the command into coaxing. "Five minutes. I'll be with her five minutes, and she'll call in the unlikely event anything should go wrong in five minutes." He grimaced. Then he peeled himself away from the wall and walked to the door. After one glance back over his shoulder, he stepped outside and let the door close behind him. Simone patted the edge of the bed. Rachel pursed her lips, then settled on the mattress edge, supporting most of her weight with her legs braced against the floor. "Simone, what have you been up to?" "Are you sure you can't work up some interest in Ackerman?" Simone said. "He's good-looking even if he does have a hide like a rhino and a temper like an elephant with a sore tusk." "Well, his tusk is sore, all right," Rachel said, and put her hand against Simone's ribcage when the injured woman laughed and then groaned. "Sorry, sorry. No more double-entendres, I promise, cherie. Why should I have an interest in Ackerman?" "It might make Bice think your interest in Operations was momentary." In reflex, Rachel said, "I don't have an interest in Operations. He's my mentor..." and she let the words dissolve when Simone rolled her eyes. She added, "And is Section like every other place on earth? I have to have a man protect me to make it?" "No. You could always try seducing Madeline. Or go straight for the problem and seduce Bice." Rachel held up a finger. "You're injured. You're safe now, but just you wait." Simone laughed, then groaned again. "They've got to get us something that protects against knives." "Armor-plating. But it's heavy. Simone, will you quit stalling and tell me what in hell you're up to?" Simone sighed and shut her eyes. "Mon ami, honestly, can't you simply trust me with this?" She waited. So did Rachel. Simone opened one eye, looked her over, and grimaced before closing the eye again. "No one likes Bice." "Tell me something I don't know." "It's not only you she's dangerous to; she's dangerous to us all. She's no longer merely kinky; she's unstable. I'm not just trying to find you protection; I want her out of One for good. To give him his due, I think Operations does as well." Rachel rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. "Me, I grant you, she's crazier than any criminal I ever arrested in Québec, but just because she's taken some weird dislike to me -- maybe Québec is the reason. Maybe she just has something against convicted ex-cops." "It's not that you were a flic, bébé," Simone said, reaching up to push a curl back from Rachel's forehead. "It's that you've got in where she can't. She's been trying since Adrian left Section to get in Operations' pants, and you --" Rachel jerked her head up and her hands down. "Crisse, Simone, you haven't said --" "Doucement, doucement," Simone said, patting her hand. "No, of course I haven't." "J'en suis desolée -- I'm sorry. I know you said you wouldn't. I just -- how could she know?" "For a flic, you're naive about women, bébé. She doesn't have to know. She just has to have suspicions, and not have any way to prove them. And someone as crazy as Bice would have suspicions no matter what." "Abandon hope all ye who enter here," Rachel muttered. Simone's dark eyes sparkled. "I agree. But we won't call her that where it might get back to her. Now, you be reasonable and do what Michael tells you." "When someone wants you to do something, they always tell you it's reasonable," Rachel grumbled. The door squeaked open. "Rachel." Michael stepped inside. "Housekeeping's got your bag packed. They want you to to take the train to Johannesburg and leave from the airport there. You ready?" "Yes." She stooped and kissed Simone's forehead. "Lie back and be reasonable yourself, cherie. I'll see you back at headquarters." She waved one last time as the door shut, then headed back for Housekeeping. Ackerman fell into step beside her. Uh-oh. Rachel slung the overstuffed hobo bag that continued her personal gear over her shoulder, and pretended that Ackerman choosing to walk her back to Housekeeping was a normal everyday thing. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, pursed his lips in a soundless whistle, then said, "You and Michael accomplished a lot in the back of that amphib. Patched up Simone, handed over the codes..." He'd noticed the appearance of the codes and measured out the exchange potentials. Rachel shrugged. "You do what you have to do. I was more worried about Simone than anything else. He could have handed me a bazooka and I wouldn't have noticed." "Yeah. Sort of like that stun grenade you pulled out of your bra." She tossed the manicured curls back and said haughtily, "It was my pocket, not my bra. Even I couldn't get away with hiding a grenade in my bra." He took three long strides, halted, and swung one-hundred-eighty degrees around directly into her path. It was stop or plow into him. Rachel stopped. Dark brows drew down; his jaw clenched. He stared at her, and she glared back, refusing to drop her eyes or step back. Ackerman said, "Don't expect to get any points with Michael because you saved his ass this time. You might get a bonus out of taking care of Simone, but that's all you'll get from him." "Shouldn't I be more concerned about not getting points with you?" His mouth twitched. The dark-ice stare remained. "You always such a smart ass?" "You always such a hard case?" Rachel countered. "Mouthy," he said. "You watch that. Some people aren't as forgiving as I am." The eyes raked her up and down. He smelt of soap as well. He only needed a fedora to look like he'd stepped out of The Untouchables. "Even with the free show; most of ‘em want more than a tease." On the tip of her tongue was ‘and what do you want?', but she bit back the words. Working with Operations had taught her some self-preservation. "Something Michael didn't mention you ought to know," he continued. Rachel settled herself more firmly on her feet, setting her jaw and waiting for the kicker. "You know where he came from?" She cocked her head. "Does that matter? We're here now." "Jesus, you're Operations' recruit and you're still wet behind the ears," he said, the derisive edge grating on her nerves. "He came out of Four." "Other operatives come out of Four. So did Simone." "So she did." Now Ackerman sounded as if he were praising a bright pupil. "But I notice he didn't mention that although Bice was our profiler, our intel came straight from Four." And I'm heading into Section Four territory. "He told you this?" "It's in the profile. Or it was. It's not there now." He cocked his head to one side, eyeing her with malicious curiosity. "Makes you wonder whose idea that was, doesn't it?" "Only if you're paranoid." "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean there isn't a ‘Shoot Me' sign on your back." He turned on his heel, then tossed one more barb over his shoulder. "If I see you back at HQ, maybe I'll talk you into coming across on that tease." Rachel held her tongue a second time. Operations would have laughed himself sick at her conversion to the better part of valor. Beneath her breath, she contented herself with, "Not if I see you first, cochon." *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
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