Chance favors Catesby as she recovers from her latest wounding, pulling out a second pistol from her battle harness and letting both loose on Jess.
The muzzle flashes illuminate the incensed gaze on Catesby's face as the ejected shell casings fly about the hangar, their expended lives propelling hot lead at her quarry.
A tight group of 9mm slugs traverse the distance from Catesby to Jess, imbedding themselves in her pale Agency flesh. Jess has felt this kind of pain before, but not quite to this level of agony.
Across the tarmac, Brian sees Catesby literally gun-down Jess in a dazzling display of akimbo.
Well, allow me to retort.
Brian carefully ranges the new distance to Catesby.
Two clicks to the left, one up. That should do it.
He closes his eyes, lets out a breath, then squeezes the rifle trigger with ease. Brian opens his eyes as the muzzle flash is followed by a bright red mist of blood from where Catesby's neck used to be.
Inside the hangar, as Jess holds on to her own life, she sees Catesby drop one of her pistols as she clutches on to her severed carotid.
Catesby is in various states of un/consciousness as the RAF gunship announces its arrival with a missile trail from one of its winglets.
The hovering chopper now waiting in futility for its leader to return bursts into flames as it takes a one up the tailpipe. The chopper crashes to the ground as the gunship lands nears the hangar, its crew receiving the med-evac order from Jess.
Brian and his squad move in to provide any necessary protection/security as the gunship lands nearby. Two crewmen exit the cargo area with stretchers in tow, one taking Jess the other Catesby.
"Green Blue Red Yellow? I've got Red Blue Green Yellow."
Carla furrows her brow for a few seconds, and cuts Goodspeed off before he can start talking.
"I think not all of them are different, because she needed something to remember what's what when she was making them. Y'know, a nmemonic. And we know she goes for that intellectual "I'm the only one to figure this out 'cause I'm so smart" bullshit. That's why I think red is red. It's symbolism, like a rose is a rose, like you can't hide blood, since she's descended from a Fawker, like the catholic tradition of cardinal red. Unless you think I'm out of line, red is red and the rest are analogues."
Goodspeed takes a few seconds to reply, no doubt processing everything in his head.
Ok, I think you may have something there, Carla. Ok, I cut the red wire first. That way if I'm wrong, me and the lab are the only ones that are going to have a very bad day. Cutting the red now."
The beads of sweat rolling down Carla's face have now become a torrent. Static fills her end of the comm channel.
*...* {the sound of the agents not dying. A pretty good sound, all things considered.}
"Well, if that doesn't beat all. And here I thought we were up the sprout..."
She looks around, to make sure that dramatic bad guy/hidden timer/whatever isn't behind her back, ready to ruin her moment of relief. Satisfied, she wipes her now-sweat-drenched face with her shirt sleeve, and considers lighting up the last Lucky Strike in her pack, but thinks about the fuel situation, and heads up front to sit with Artis.
"Looks like the free world lives to die another day. Any booze in this deathwagon we can drink to it with? On second thought, let's just bask in this moment of beating the odds."
She sits back, enjoying the ability to breathe. Breathing's enough right now, and is seldom appreciated, come to think of it.
(Edited by Threadbare at 4:20 am on Jan. 10, 2004)
The monotonous noise of the chopper's engines drowns out the reality within; Jessica steadies herself against the wall, looking down at her hastily bandaged wounds, the discarded ballistic vest, then Catesby. Her head snaps back with a smile.
"We did it..."
The adrenaline drains, and she sinks into merciful unconsciousness.
Jess treats the team during their R&R with a stay at her "uncle's" house in Santorini. During a relaxing afternoon, two me enter through the small gate. One of them is Nightengale and the other is a rather haggard looking individual. Brian immediately picks up on the man's stance, deriving that he's either Royal Army or, at the very least, ex-military.
Nightengale seems a bit distraught about cutting into his team's leave, but gets down to business right after pleasantries are exhanged. He gestures for them to retire inside the house wherein he goes over the latest news from the homefront.
"Since the time of Catesby's apprehension the team has learned of a Splinter Cell (TM) of the Fawkes Organization based in Belfast, Ireland. It is believed that they are planning a widescale retributive strike, both in retaliation to Catesby's capture and in defiance of the standing IRA/UK cease-fire."
During the briefing, Nightengale's cohort is a bit uneasy of the environment in which he apparently was dropped. His ruddied guise is further enhanced by his profuse amount of perspiration.
"I'm actually counting on that footprint, Agent Osprey. After the incident at Berwick, your team's Cloak and Broadsword reputation will be preceding you wherever you may be operating. In lieu of this and under my recommendation, the Agency is reassigning you to the frontline, which leads me into introducing Master Sergeant Donovan McTaggert, Royal Marines. He'll be your Agency liason in Belfast."
Dieter
