| From: | "Paul J. Adam" <Shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Reversal of Fortune |
| Date: | Mon, 3 Aug 1998 17:48:09 +0100 |
>>>>>[Oh, fuck, I knew things were going too well.
First word I get from Petersen is that the extraction team never came
back. We lost Von Drexler, we lost Rosselini, we lost Cunningham, we
lost the whole damn team.
Then I get a FLASH message from CINCPAC, telling me the _Gurnard_ blew a
shaft bearing on her speed run and won't be in firing position for at
least thirty-six hours. TARFU, in other words. That late, it's not worth
wasting ordnance.
And I get back from lunch to find four NIS spooks in my office waiting
for me, and two of them grab me and try to put fucking _handcuffs_ on
me. FOR WHAT?
I have no idea. Nor do I intend to find out. After I tie the heavies in
square knots I start running. Metaphorically, anyway, after I'm out of
the SIGA corridors and loose in the D-Ring.
Whatever they're after me for, they're keeping it quiet: I make it to
the main entrance without any thunderous pursuit, and the guards there
are more worried about keeping hostiles _out_ than people like me _in_.
The noise doesn't start until I'm two hundred yards out in the car park
and commandeering some civilian's car.
And DC is a pretty easy city to vanish in, once you're out of the black
fatigues and in civvies. I knew I might have to do something like this,
so I kept a stash of gear, money, and an ID that would pass a casual
check hidden: never thought I'd need it to hide from my own people,
though.
Whatever they want me for, they haven't made it public. I've just been
made an unperson. Coppinger's back at the top of SIGA. It's not easy to
find any records that say I was ever there, let alone running the joint.
What the hell did I _do_?
And what do I do now?]<<<<<
-- Mitchell <17:47:53/08-03-59>
