"I think we need to leave. Anatoli, I'm sorry, but it looks like you're safer not coming with us. What do you say we drop you off at a doctor's office with some cash and tell you how to reach our recruitment department?"
Artis makes to pull out of the industrial park with due haste. "Who or what are these guys after is the question. They shot you, not him" - he motions to Peter and then Anatoli. "Granted, you were armed... What else do you know, Annie? Who are these guys? FSB?"
"You think I know? This is exactly the kind of shit I'm trying to get away from. Aren't you people supposed be the spy guys? Ask Einstein (looking at Peter) here. My personal opinion is that you've somehow managed to piss off every Russian within a thousand-mile radius and I unfortunately got in the middle of it."
"Well, it's not FSB, they don't do things that way...and even if they did, this would be way over budget. Other intelligence organisations? Don't think so. The only ones will the balls to pull something like that would be Mossad, and we don't have beef with them; besides, they don't operate here. That leaves us with criminal organisations. Pick your favourite. We should also consider the communications security problem. Either the link is still being tapped, or we're being tracked in some other way. We can't make sure of a), but we can try to go over b)."
He winces a bit bandaging his wound.
"I suggest Typhoid Mary protocol. Until we've determined why we keep getting fucked with, we should go into isolation mode. The less outside contact we have, the better. Should also help us in determining how they're tracking us."
"I'm all for it. Anatoli, we need to dump you somewhere. We'll give you some cash for treatment, and I've got no problem arming you as you leave. You and that space rifle are the two things that we've accumulated since we've started getting bushwhacked. Let's dismantle that weapon and leave the pieces across twenty clicks."
"Unless you bugged the truck while you were in the cab trying to hotwire it."
"H-hell n-nooo!." chirps Anatoli, his voice wavering a bit at the thought of further harm being done to himself.
"Maybe you should've locked the fucking door!" adds the Hacker, a valid point.
Anatoli's either very good at lying of the subject of the one of the worst cases of Wrong place/wrong time in the history of such occurances.
"A suggestion? You guys gotta dump this rig. If it already hasn't been made the people trying to kill you, the spotter back there definitely called it in to his superiors. And if it is the Odessa Syndicate, you've probably got thirty minutes before they break out heavy artillery and go to town on you like a sailor on a Bangkok hooker."
"Listen to me, and listen good. We've been nice to you. Against all odds, we've tried to help you, and we're still doing that. But I swear to God, if I find out that you're trying to fuck us over, I'm going to kick your ass so hard that you can tie my shoelaces with your teeth. Got that?"
"As much as I hate to say it, he's right," Artis says to Peter. " Even if we find bugs and disable them, we stick out like Shaft at a Klan meeting. Maybe you should pack what you can, we'll get a new vehicle when we drop Annie off."
"First, we need to repair and repaint the rig. This vehicle represents a significant amount of Agency resources and my time...if we have to abandon it, we need to make sure it'll be there for a later extraction. The other vehicle angle is less of a problem, I guess."
"Woah, easy there. I'm sorry you got shot, but I wasn't the guy pulling the trigger....so back off, would you? Look, like I said...I know a few people in the city that can help you out if you want. It's the least I can do."
After a brief whispered discussion, Artis replies to Anatoli. "Thanks, but in lieu of recent events I think it's better we parted ways and hopefully never see each other again."
Artis pulls the rig over onto the shoulder and draws his sidearm. "You're walking from here, Annie. Sorry, but it's safer for all of us." To Peter: "Get him a weapon and a mag, ok? Something concealable."
And that's when Artis slows down, pops the auto-door opener, and boots Anatoli out. From the side-mirror, Peter sees Anatoli up and moving on the shoulder and throws a clip of pistol ammo out the window.
Repainting the front end of the rig is more of a pain than it turned out to be. Along with resurfacing the blazed area and filling them over with Bond-O, Peter spends a good deal of time prying pieces of serrated metal out of the grillwork and quarterpanels.
The job is done in just under a two hours, with the new paint still tacking up as Artis steers the rig and trailer into a long-since used industrial building. Unless someone specifically knew where to look, it's pretty much hidden out of sight for the forseeable future.
Artis pulls Le Car out of the trailer, relieved to be driving something with acceleration and speed.
Peter walks over, the trailer hatch closing behind him. He's fully loaded with what looks like the most useful parts of his mobile arsenal. Dumping it all into the car's trunk, he walks up to the passenger door, gets into the car and gives Art a quick introduction.
"Alright, I know you drive cars for a living, so I'll be brief. Pressing this button here on the steering wheel will activate the tactical systems. As I'm sure you remember, it comes with two heavy machineguns. When you activate them, this little gizmo here will project a point of aim onto the windscreen together with ammo counts. Firing the guns is done with these two buttons. The triggers for the ejection seats are over here, and this display will give you some engine data just in case you need to redline this baby and want to know if the thermal buildup is still in the green. Good overall armor coverage, but let's try not to test it too much."
He smiles.
"And this button here...it gives you really phat bass."
Gatac
