| From: | "Paul J. Adam" <Shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Betrayal |
| Date: | Sat, 31 Oct 1998 10:12:18 +0000 |
>>>>>[TO: D J H Coppinger, Director: Cpt L R W Lynch
CC: Archive
+++++begin video
The group sit, around a table covered with maps and satellite
photographs of the Amazon river basin.
"Good as they are, they aren't much good." Emma sighs and shakes her
head. "These are too out of date."
"Less than two weeks old. And already out of date." Ronin snorts. "Put
me back in prison, I changed my mind, I don't wanna go."
"Doesn't change much. The river doesn't move much, even if the forests
do." Stephanie says resignedly. "We just have to not get killed on the
way there."
"Well, dudes, we got a good boat and some mondo firepower, plus we're a
pretty buff bunch of _hombres_." Harley suggests. "So I guess we got
more chance than usual."
"I'd still prefer to skew the odds our way." Emma replies. "It's the
only way in and so it's the _obvious_ way in, even if we can expect
local help from -"
Griffyn interrupts, laying a piece of paper on the table. "Actually, I
thought of a better version." He writes 'Keep Talking' across it, moves
towards the door with a feline silence.
"_Yeah_! You'd never expect anyone to come in that way!" Stephanie says
with enthusiasm.
"Because it's suicide?" Ronin suggests. "I mean, it's not exactly
conventional..." He's screwing a silencer to the muzzle of a well-worn
but very functional Predator.
"You want to live forever?" Stephanie asks, drawing her Matchmaster
automatic as Griffyn throws the door open and hauls someone inside, the
eavesdropper wailing in surprise: her hand blurs and glitters with
steel-
The knife stops dead, a few inches from Griffyn's neck. "Naughty." He
says reprovingly, and tightens his grip on the Indian girl's wrist until
the blade - a Cougar - falls to the floor. "What do we do with her?"
Stephanie frowns, keeping the Matchmaster's huge .45 bore aimed at the
girl's face. "I don't know. How long was she listening? I heard a rustle
a few minutes ago, didn't think anything of it."
"Same here." Griffyn replies. "I smelt her and thought it was worth
checking."
"What's your name?" Stephanie asks. No response. She tries the same in
Spanish, with the same lack of result. "Anyone got a Guarani chip handy?
Oh. Okay." She turns away. "We take no chances. Ronin, you've got the
silencer. Two rounds, back of her head, we'll dump the body in the
harbour."
"You can't just kill her, dude-" Harley sounds appalled, though the
girl's reaction is dramatic: arms up and head turned away from Ronin's
silenced automatic.
"Maybe not, but she didn't know that. And if she moves wrong we _will_
kill her. Go get Carleton." Harley, puzzled, limps out. Minutes drag by
before she returns, Carleton following in silk pyjamas (still carrying
his fly-whisk.)
"Captain Lynch, this is _most_ irregular...and _what_ is our bartender
doing here?"
"That's what I'd like to know, Mr Carleton. Why was she listening at our
door?"
"Kehulai? Listening at the door? She doesn't speak a word of English."
"Yet she understands it well enough, Mr Carleton. Trust me on this."
Stephanie gestures with the huge, scoped .45 racegun at the girl. "I
don't intend to argue or squabble, Carleton, and I'd prefer not to
mention this little incident to Mr Jedburgh. But you either keep Miss
Kehulai locked up in solitary for a month after we leave, or we kill her
now." The Guarani girl flinches at the words.
"And if I tell you to go to hell, Captain?"
"Then I get on the SATLINK to Langley, and Uncle Darius makes some
'phone calls, and suddenly everyone from the Amazonians to the Aztlan
Intelligence Service know about your deals, and some big nasty men are
coming to ask questions. Sharp, pointy questions. Red-hot questions.
Involving pliers and cattle prods and cheese graters and all sorts of
nasty stuff. Do I make myself clear enough, Mr Carleton?" Stephanie,
less than five feet tall, seems to fill the room: it's easy to see her
as a huge tiger, fur on end, advancing on a foe, even though she's
wholly human right now.
"All right! All right! I'll do as you say." Carleton caves in. "No need
to get so rude about it, Captain..."
Carleton is gone, as is Kehulai - taken away under guard. Stephanie is
clearing the photographs off the table as Ronin comes up to help. "Would
you really have blown him so far open? Dropped him in so much trouble?"
"Mr Van Holde? We don't even _have_ a SATCOM." Stephanie replies
quietly. "Too unreliable in jungle."
"They worked fine in Southeast Asia when I was there."
"Southeast Asia isn't Amazonia. Avenger - a friend, a dead friend - told
me that if you'd never been there you couldn't know what it was like. He
was right. You've never seen anything like it. Even the sims we were
running weren't that close." Stephanie, uncharacteristically, sounds
worried.
"So you were bluffing. What would you have done if he'd called it?"
"Killed Kehulai. If Carleton made too much fuss, killed him too."
Ronin begins to speak, pauses, regards the small shaman's face. "Yeah."
is all he says after a while.
+++++end video
Turned out we should have killed them both. Teach me to be a nice person
and not go around killing everyone who annoys me... oh, well.]<<<<<
-- Stephanie <10:14:54/10-31-59>
