Half-Life - War in the Shadows
Chapter I - Emergence
A cool breeze rustled the edges of the hood pulled up over the young man's head as he watched the street across the canal through a pair of binoculars. The soft stir of air had swept through the twisted and winding streets of the city from the ocean, what was left of it, and, just moments earlier, had touched the wiry frame of an old man, his long ex-army greatcoat hanging loose about his thin frame, as he stood next to a solitary phone booth.
It was a cold September evening, and Garret Jukes stood leaning against the doorframe leading out on to the small balcony of the ninth floor apartment. He watched the old man carefully, his young face stern, unreadable. He was thinking.
The old man was alone, and Garret hadn't noticed anybody else in the small crowd of people milling about the street paying any particular attention to him.
He squinted as he stared through the binoculars. His comrade, a pale-skinned young man just slightly older than himself, stood beside him, his weight resting on the barrel of a long and deadly looking sniper rifle.
"You see him?" Donovan asked, his narrowed gaze fixed on the same old man Garret was studying.
Garret didn't bother to remove the binoculars from his face. "Yeah," he responded. "I see him. He's alone. Go ahead, take up a firing position. Once I'm sure, and if we get the chance, take the shot."
Donovan grinned and dropped to his belly, deploying the slender legs of the bipod from the body of the M24 sniper rifle. Adjusting his position slightly, he steadied his aim and stared intently through the 10X Leupold-Stewens M3 Ultra telescopic sight fitted to the top of the weapon.
Taking his eyes from the binoculars, Garret gestured inside to get the attention of one of the other occupants of the small apartment. Alexei, sitting cross-legged on the bed, a small computer resting in his lap with what seemed like a dozen wires running from it, half to the wall, half to a similar number of electronic devices positioned around him, looked up from his work.
"You going to be able to get all of this?" Garret inquired, genuine concern apparent in his voice.
Alexei just nodded and casually leaned over and flicked a few switches on one of the many machines scattered across the bed. A row of LED lights blinked to life along the top of it, signalling that it was functioning properly.
Without another word, Garret withdrew a small cell phone-like device from his jacket pocket and punched in a few numbers with his thumb. He put the phone to his ear and waited.
"It's ringing," Donovan said. "He just looked over at the phone." There was a pause. "Wait a second. Why won't he answer it?"
Garret frowned and lifted the binoculars to his eyes again. "I don't know," he said. "He's looking at it, like he wants to answer it. Every second for him is a long time, and I can't help but wonder why."
"He's got no reason to be nervous," said Alexei from back inside the apartment. "He knows who it is, or he thinks he knows anyways."
Nodding, Garret continued to study the old man, still thinking.
He knew what the old man was. Not only was he a Combine sympathiser, he was also a high-ranking official within one of the primary Resistance Cells, a leader in the Command Rings.
The man was a traitor, and Garret had proof. Alexei had tapped the bastard's phone, he'd heard him talking to Civil Protection Officers, heard him discuss the finer points of his "defection".
Alexei had those conversations recorded, copies of them now stored on a small compact disc that the latest conversation would then be added to. Garret would get final confirmation of the man's treachery, he'd instruct Donovan to execute him, Alexei would record the conversation to the disc, a copy of the disc would be mailed to Resistance High Command, and another delivered to the Combine itself. The intelligence agents would get the disc, read the message attached, and, as always, that message would go unheeded.
And so the cycle of life and death continued.
The man finally entered the phone booth and picked up the receiver.
The conversation lasted less than 30 seconds.
Garret ended the call and looked down at Donovan. "Don't bother," he said, his voice just barely more than a whisper.
"What?" Donovan responded abruptly, looking up from the scope.
"I said don't worry about it."
Garret entered the apartment and grabbed his submachine gun, a modern weapon of Russian origin, a PP-2000, from the bed. He cocked the small weapon and placed it in a specially designed holster inside his jacket.
"Where are you going?" Donovan called after him as Garret moved to the door.
"There was something wrong just now, about that old man," Garret said after he'd peeked outside to make sure the hallway was clear.
Donovan rolled his eyes. "Damn right there was something wrong. I could have shot him, you know. It was an easy shot, and in full view of at least two dozen civilians and a patrol of Metro Cops, not to mention God knows how many scanners. It would have been perfect. We'd have had our example. Besides, we know he's guilty. He thought he just made contact with his Civil Protection controller. We have it on tape. We have fucking confirmation that he's a spy and a traitor. So what the hell is the problem?"
"I know, and I'm sorry. But, like I said, there was something wrong just now. Every second for that man is a very long time, and I don't know about you, but I'm a little curious as to why."
"What's it matter?" Alexei questioned from the bed, already packing up his equipment.
"As always, the difference between life and death."
Donovan just rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Come on, Garret. Surely not from you, of all people."
Garret fixed Donovan with a stare that made the other man shift his gaze downward abruptly. "Meet me at the foot of that bridge in three hours. Don't bother bringing your rifle. Alexei, copy all the information we've gathered and send it to High Command. Use the usual channels."
With that, Garret left the room, stalking off down the corridor, leaving his comrades in the apartment somewhat confused. That 30 second conversation had given him a lot to think about.
