Disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible, any of the other characters from that show, or those from any other media I may reference in my stories.
This story takes place early in Kim's junior year of High School.
Betty Director was in the middle of a discussion with her aide, Abby Hogan, prior to her morning briefings, when something new in the notes she was perusing caught her eye. "Isle Drakkon? That's....I was going to say a Caribbean Island?"
Abby, a statuesque blond in her early fifties, a field agent for twenty years before taking her current position, nodded. "That's right! Not one of the better known ones, not even to us! Not an ideal location as a way stop for drug traffickers, or possessed of great natural resources. Not enough for the US Government to really pay attention to, as long as their politics aren't 'Red'."
"And now they're having a revolution? How does this concern us directly, Abs?"
"Let me see what I wrote..." Abby took the notes back from Betty and scanned them. "Oh! Last night's notes, didn't update them, sorry! Too busy monitoring the West Coast operation." Betty acknowledged her reason with a nod, "Anyway, we have reports that Drakken and Shego are there, supporting the Rebels."
Betty's eyebrows rose sharply. "All right, tell me about Isle Drakkon."
"Short version, or should I ask Will in to give the briefing?" Abby smirked, then responded to Betty's dangerous look by raising her hands in a warding gesture. "Fine! Be Miss Serious Boss! Well, Isle Drakkon, current population roughly 230,000, robust ethnic mix typical for the islands down there. Got a 'President-for-Life' type in charge at the moment. Economic survey reported that there is enough local industry to keep the islanders comfortable, with a little left over. IF it's well managed, which is doubtful at present. Tourism would help, but not runaway tourism. One or two resorts would be just right. Current President, Robert Jean-Baptiste LeMonde, has tried several times to interest hotel chains, but things keep happening to discourage them. Off the record, it's LeMonde himself and his cronies who scare them off, Betts."
Doctor Director nodded, taking it all in. "What about the odd name?"
"Island was first claimed by a Swedish adventurer. Hired a Spanish ship to make the trip, though, and royally ticked off the Spanish court. King of Sweden wasn't all that thrilled, either, but it seems to have been a personal dislike of the man. So he sold, or ceded, the island to the King of France, and let him deal with the Spaniards. Since then it's been mostly under French rule, with brief occupations by Spain in the early eighteenth century, and England twice during the French Revolution and Napoleonic periods. Gained independence in 1954." Abby stopped to take a breath, waiting for Betty's reaction.
It took a minute to come, and only after a quick glance at her watch. "And now Drakken and Shego are there? What are they up against?" She began organizing the papers she was taking to the briefing.
"Well, there's something curious about that. The reported military forces of the Island total 740 men. Police number less then one hundred. Interesting thing is, forty percent of the personnel in each are reported to be non-natives, working under contract."
"Mercenaries? That doesn't gibe with a relatively poor economy. Somebody must have a source of income not in the reports, to pay them off. Unless of course, they're not real mercs, just regular contract police. Anyway, we need more info to go on." She suddenly scowled. "Is Isle Drakkon a signatory to our charter?"
Abby grimaced and shook her head. "No extradition treaty with any UN countries, either!"
"Then we can't do anything about it, anyway!" Betty exclaimed in exasperation. "But I want the situation monitored, we need to find out what those two are up to down there." She rose from her desk, papers in hand, then headed for the office door.
"Want to pass the word to Team Possible?" Abby inquired.
Betty stopped, considered it briefly, then shook her head. "No, not going to send those kids into the middle of a shooting war! What is the level of violence, do we know?"
Abby shrugged. "Not really. A couple of indefinite reports from the US Consul, but he's basing his reports on secondhand information. There's shooting, but no idea how much."
Betty nodded. "Well, then, we don't want Kim in the middle of it! Let's just keep an eye on things ourselves."
00000000000
"I can't believe this happened!" Kim exclaimed loudly, before cringing slightly and looking down through the hatch to her bedroom. She continued in a lower tone, "The 'Stoppable Immune System', Ha! All it seems to mean is Ron didn't catch all the childhood diseases while he was a child, he saved them up for teenhood!" She sagged a bit. "But, he caught it from one of my babysitting jobs, because I asked him to bring me something, so why am I putting it all on him?"
Her best (female) friend regarded her from her reclining position on Kim's bed, textbook opened in front of her. "Because your great plans for the weekend just went up in smoke, and you did all the work arranging it?" Monique suggested. "And he somehow has a history of spoiling such moments?"
Kim huffed, flung up her hands, and collapsed into the chair at her computer station. "Pretty much! Never on purpose, of course, he just has this knack..."
"Uh huh, that boy has a lot of 'knacks', girlfriend! Of course, you're not half as tweaked as Joyce Lindell, she was planning on a date with him, too! But hers was going to be a bit more, um, intimate, if she had her way!"
Kim's eyebrows rose. "Oh, really? She rebounded from her crash and burn with Doug Casey, or do you think she really likes Ron?"
Monique snorted derisively. "I think she's about to 'crash and burn' with her creative writing assignment, and wants pointers from your 'biographer'. Also, Ron's kind of hot, when he doesn't try to be."
Kim had rolled her eyes at 'biographer', now she snorted. "But around girls, he always 'tries' to be cool, and he's so bad at acting that way! But I've heard the same thing before, when he's just acts natural, the girls see something in him."
"Sure, I've seen it myself!" Monique replied, and grinned at Kim's astonished look. "The boy's got something going on, really! You just can't see it, because you don't think of him that way! But it's a real shame he's going to miss that day you planned for the two of you, after all the hard..."
"Beep Beep Be Deep"
Kim grinned and punched a key on her computer, bringing the image of Wade Load to the screen. "What's the sitch, Wade?"
"A revolution, with Drakken and Shego involved, believe it or not!" The boy genius replied.
Kim's grin disappeared, and she sat up straighter, brow furrowing. "A revolution? Where? And against who?"
"Isle Drakkon, which is down in the Caribbean. It's barely been mentioned on the news, but there's a revolt in progress versus the ruler, P4L LeMonde." Kim's eyebrows rose, and she glanced at Monique, who grinned. "Drakken and Shego are apparently backing the rebels, for some reason!" Wade put up a map of the island on the screen.
"Hmph! Well, is this Lemonde a good leader, or a bad one? Not that that matters too much, whatever reason Shego and Drakken have for being there has to be bad!" Kim studied the map curiously. "I suppose you could say it looks like a dragon's head, but that would be a stretch." She mused aloud. Monique had come over, and shook her head as she too studied the map. "Big stretch, Girlfriend!"
"Don't think that has anything to do with the name, guys. As for Lemonde, I haven't read anything good about him he didn't have published himself! On the other hand, there's not a lot of concrete evidence to suggest he's particularly bad, either! The usual rumors, but the place just doesn't get much attention from the press, or other governments."
Kim shrugged. "Well, the point is, Drakken's there, so I'd better head there, too! Can you set up a ride, Wade?"
Wade grimaced. "That might be a problem, Kim! There's been an advisory posted against commercial travel to and from the island. Apparently there's a real threat to aircraft, though none have been fired on, yet. Not sure any of your rides is a good choice for this." His fingers danced over one keyboard. "No scheduled flights in, except one! Flight plan filed earlier, leaving Jamaica in five hours. I can get you there, but you'll have to get yourself aboard that flight yourself, they're not selling tickets!"
Kim looked annoyed, but nodded. "Then that's what I'll do! Get me to Jamaica, Wade, and leave the rest to me!"
0000000000
It was getting dark on Isle Drakkon. Deputy Foreign Minister Edouard LeMonde stood nervously inside the terminal of the island's one and only airport, watching a twin-engine transport plane taxiing towards him. The plane seated twenty-eight passengers, and Edouard devoutly hoped all the seats were filled with new recruits for the Government forces. Otherwise, his cousin was going to be very mad, and would almost certainly take it out on him, despite his having no control over the situation.
Right now, less then one in ten of the 'native' personnel in the Army and police were still in the ranks, and a fifth of their foreign hires had disappeared as well, with no more than half of them likely casualties in the fighting. Things did not look good, and fresh blood was needed. Or an alliance, his cousin said. Perhaps with America, perhaps Venezuela. Though the latter would be a desperate measure, his cousin having no love for the politics practiced there.
As the plane rolled to a stop, Edouard straightened the perfectly creased battle dress he wore, checked to make sure both of his bodyguards were alert, and strode out to the plane. If they followed their instructions, the men aboard would not disembark until they had been briefed on the situation, and given a chance to change their minds, in which case they would fly back out on the same plane. It was Edouard's job to see that none of them did, if possible.
A hatch behind the cockpit was opened, and stairs lowered as he approached. He took one more moment to compose himself, then ascended the stairs. His first view of the passenger cabin was encouraging. There were at least twenty-two men present, looking either bored, or anxious to get moving. Most likely half of them were faking whichever they were showing, he thought. And they were not the most impressive looking lot of hired guns he'd ever seen. Still, one had to make do.
He began by introducing himself, and making it clear he was their paymaster, which caused an improvement in their attentiveness, and attitude. He then told them that they would all be enlisted in the Army, as there was little point in wasting their talents on the Police force. He specified their pay, which caused a wide variety of reactions, and informed them that all weapons and equipment would be provided, all of it in good condition, and reasonably modern. Then he fielded some questions.
"What exactly are the limits on our actions, with regard to the rebels, and those we suspect of being rebels?" Edouard had a pre-approved answer to that, but reminded himself that he was the one the words would be attributed to, if things went wrong. Nevertheless, he dared not deviate too much.
"All armed rebels are to be dealt with with out mercy! As to those you 'suspect' of aiding the rebel cause, as long as there is reasonable cause to suspect them, you may treat them as you please. There are no restrictions as to gender, age, or ethnic background, gentlemen." That brought one or two frowns, he noted, but more knowing smiles and nods.
"How well armed and organized are these rebels, and how widely supported?"
"Not well at all, I assure you! They have captured approximately one hundred weapons of various types from the police, and have some civilian style weapons, but that's all!" Which was a conservative estimate, but almost all of the deserters from the ranks had slipped away from their barracks without taking their personal weapons, mainly to avoid suspicion. "As to their support? Well, most people have taken a 'wait and see' attitude. As you may guess, we need you to replace men who deserted, but few of them, we believe, went over to the rebels, they mostly just objected to killing their own countrymen, and have gone into hiding." Which was the actual opinion of the current Deputy Minister of Defense, who Edouard thought was a complete idiot, but his words were useful.
"So, you're trying to tell us this is going to be easy?" Came a skeptical inquiry.
Edouard held up his hands, shaking his head. "Of course not, I'd never suggest such a thing! The rebels gained a lot of ground, literally and otherwise, while we were trying to recover from the desertions, and their morale is high because of it! We'll have to break that morale again if we are to have an easy time mopping them up!"
"And they have no professional help, no hired mercenaries of their own?"
This was the tricky question, but here Edouard thought he could lie a little. "None at all! They've shown no sign of receiving any professional training or guidance at all! They've made most of their victories against small groups of outnumbered Government troops and Police, when they still had the element of surprise, and some of our commanders were unfortunately overconfident! Those men have been removed from command, and some of those vacancies have yet to be filled. Qualified persons would naturally receive higher pay to fill those roles." A little extra incentive never hurt with mercenaries, and the story was basically true, even the promise of higher pay. "So, if you gentlemen have made your choices, please either follow me to the terminal, or remain seated..." He broke off as someone stood up in the rearmost row of seats, shrugged on a backpack, and stepped into the aisle. "I'm not quite finished, yet!"
The individual in question was rather short, and wore a baseball cap pulled low over his (her?) features. She began to walk up the aisle towards him, smiling, and addressed him in a cheerful voice, "Oh, that's all right! Your speech isn't for me, anyway. But don't you think you should have mentioned that Doctor Drakken and Shego are aiding the rebels? I mean, they're not professional soldiers, but still, with all the stuff they probably brought with them, I really think you should have mentioned it!" She passed him as she said this, stepping to the head of the steps, before stopping and addressing the other passengers. "Safe trip home for those who take it! For the others...well, hope it's worth what they're paying you!" And she was gone.
Edouard took a moment to shut his mouth, and he glared at the departing figure before turning back to the passengers. And nearly fled when he saw the looks they were giving him...
0000000000
Kim strode across the tarmac towards the terminal, a faint smile twitching at her lips. She'd heard enough chatter on the flight to make her fairly sure that those men were not a good thing to unleash on any country, and the reception speech had made her certain of her course. Now, she just had to find Shego and Drakken. No matter who the Government was hiring, those two weren't angels, either, and she couldn't think of a 'good' reason for them to be involved in this.
The interior of the terminal was clean, but nearly deserted. Only one of the three booths operated by local airlines was manned, that being the one which had supplied the plane for the mercenaries' transport. Four policemen, two janitors, and three locals comprised the remaining occupants, along with the two men manning the Customs station. Two of the locals had luggage, and were engaged in an animated conversation with the airline reps. Apparently, they were hoping to secure seats on the plane when it left.
Kim headed towards the Customs station, the subject of attention of practically everyone else present, most of whom wore expressions of mere curiosity, though at least two of the policemen had scowls on their face. The two Customs officials managed polite smiles as she approached, pulling out her passport.
"Good Evening, Miss...Possible?" The older looking of the two men had accepted the passport, and managed to keep his voice neutral with an effort as he read her name. The younger man started, and a slight frown crossed his features as he studied Kim.
"Is this business, pleasure, or something to do with a certain green woman?" The older man inquired knowingly.
Kim thought about that a moment, a smile growing on her face. "You know, it's the last, but that means the first two apply, as well!"
"Ah! Yes, I can see how they would!" The man replied, smiling back. His partner, however seemed to be having trouble maintaining a neutral expression. "Well, anything to declare?"
Kim grimaced slightly. "Well, yeah, I have a few things, actually! My mission equipment, mainly! Nothing lethal..." The Customs man held up his hand to interrupt her.
"I think under the circumstances, we can approve your retaining those items, Miss Possible! I would, however, request you go by the American Consulate before you go about your 'business', and talk to the Consul, so he is up to speed on your presence and intended activities."
Kim frowned a bit, but nodded. "I hate to delay getting on the job, but if you think it's best..."
The man nodded solemnly. "I do, Miss Possible. The Isle Drakkon is none too safe at the moment, and I really think special precautions are wise, even for someone as accomplished as yourself."
Kim smiled again, and nodded. "Well, when you put it that way, a good night's sleep.." She was distracted by the two locals suddenly dashing for the doors to the tarmac, suitcases in hand, "..wouldn't be such a bad idea before I get started, since I suspect the Consul has probably gone home by now."
The man shrugged. "Well, his hours have been a bit irregular of late, I'm sure! But, it's probably best to wait for the morning, all things considered! There is a nice hotel just fifty meters from the terminal, you'll see it on your left as you exit the front of the building." He pointed at the front entrance.
Kim smiled gratefully. "Thanks Very Much!" She resettled her backpack and headed for the entrance. She had nearly reached it when the doors to the tarmac opened, letting in the roar of engines as the plane began to taxi back towards the runway. Edouard LeMonde strode in, a furious look on his face. He pointed at Kim. "Arrest that girl!" The policemen were startled, but hurried to obey, as Kim stood still, hands in plain sight, a frown on her face.
The older Customs man looked around, and noticed his partner had disappeared. But he didn't have time to worry about that. He called to LeMonde, "Sir, you may not want to do that, she's..."
"IF I want your opinion, I will put a gun to your head and ask you to repeat it as I give it to you!" LeMonde responded angrily. He turned to the policemen. "Take her to the jail, and give her over to Jailor Dumas! I will be down to prefer charges when I have time!" He then strode past an obviously angry Kim, barely pausing to sneer at her, and left through the front entrance, trailed by his bodyguards.
Kim didn't resist as the policemen took her backpack and handcuffed her. "Why did I have to be such a smart ass! What difference would those guys...oh, who am I kidding! After what I heard them saying on the plane, I had to take the opportunity!" The policemen seemed to have varying opinions on how rough to treat her, though no words were spoken. Just an exchange of angry glares when one of them swung her around rather roughly. Then the four led her out of the building, and she spotted LeMonde and his guards departing in an SUV. She was led to a decades-old, at the very least, Land Rover and put in the back, where all the windows were protected by heavy grillwork.
Back in the terminal, the senior Customs man considered his options. After several minutes' deliberation, he picked up his phone and began dialing.
Unseen by him around a nearby corner, his assistant was also making a call, on a cellphone. "Yes!" He whispered urgently, "Kim Possible! This is very awkward, if she is here to fight our allies, then she must be considered an enemy! She was just arrested by that idiot Edouard, but I'm not sure why! But for some reason, none of the mercenaries on the latest flight even disembarked!" He listened for a moment, "Yes, I'm sure she was arrested, it's no trick!" More listening. "She still represents a threat to our movement! If she becomes too much of a threat...no, I am not presuming to set our policy! Tell the leaders, and see what they say we should do about Miss Possible!"
0000000000
The mood in the Presidential Residence(President LeMonde's only concession to modesty was not calling it the Presidential Palace) was rather tense at the moment, as the President discussed his options with the only advisors he actually respected the intellect of, his Minister of Defense and the Deputy Minister of State, who was also his primary problem solver. The Minister of State was a smooth talker, but weak-willed, and LeMonde wanted him nowhere near any confidential discussions.
The meeting was being held in a spacious and well appointed office, with balconies accessed through French doors on two sides. There were guards outside the doors to the main hallway, and in fact a sixty-strong detachment of the best soldiers-of-fortune they'd hired protected the place, supplemented by a purely token group of policemen.
"Well, do we approach the Americans, the Venezuelans, or someone else?" Was the question he addressed to the two advisors. LeMonde was about five-eight, barrel-chested, with an impressive spread to his shoulders. He was also looking very fit, though excessive worry had more to do with that then his diet or exercise regimes. He was now fifty-four, but was nearly completely gray.
"Well.." Began the MoD, "It all depends on whose troops you want landing here to help." He was a bit older then LeMonde, taller and thinner, but possessed of a surprisingly deep baritone voice. "If you can make a case for American aid, they may not like what they see here. On the other hand, the socialists...not my preferred choice either."
"Not troops! Weapons will be enough!" LeMonde responded hotly. "Weapons capable of dealing with that green bitch, and whatever devices that scientist brought with him!"
"And what would you consider such weapons to be? The Americans aren't going to just hand over their best equipment to a half-trained army and some mercenaries, many with dubious reputations, to say the least!" The MoD kept his voice calm and level as he replied. "If we appeal for their help in dealing with a known international threat, they'll either refuse, or insist on dealing with the problem themselves, directly!"
"I'm afraid I agree with my colleague, Robert." The DMoS spoke up. He was the same height as LeMonde, but whippet lean. He was also casually dressed, as opposed to the MoD's tropical-weight business suit. "We have been beneath the American's 'radar' up until now, it would be best to remain so. I sug...." The door to the office swung open to admit LeMonde's personal Aide, who delivered a perfunctory rap to the door as he entered. That he could get away with this kind of intrusion spoke volumes, and the apprehensive looks he received from the three occupants displayed their expectations clearly.
The Aide stopped in front of the President, saluted, and reported, "Sir, I have just been speaking with a Customs officer from the airport. It seems that Kim Possible arrived on the island aboard the plane bringing in our latest batch of recruits!" Even the DMoS, who usually maintained a perfect poker face, couldn't help but gape at the news.
It was the President who managed to speak first. "She must be here to deal with that madman and his bitch! This might be wonderful news!"
The MoD shook his head. "Those two have the rebel army around them, she would have to fight her way though them to solve our problem! And I am not sure she might not end up in sympathy..." The Aide cut him off.
"Sirs, please let me finish! For some reason, your cousin Edouard ordered her arrested, and taken to the jail for the specific attention of Dumas!" Shock briefly flashed across LeMonde's face, to be quickly replaced by outrage. "That IDIOT! If something happens to that girl, I will never get help from the United States! What could have possessed that fool...if he was in a bad mood, I can guess why! He must have failed with the mercenaries! When he gets here, bring him straight to me! But right now, get the jail, and Dumas, on the line for me, at once!"
0000000000
Jailer Dumas didn't look like a monster. In fact, he was as plain looking as could be, usually. He was of medium height, a bit on the heavy side, and balding on top. He was in his late forties, and wore a tan uniform with a pair of combat boots. Useful in dealing with prisoners 'his' way. He occupied the front office/reception area of the jail along with three of his staff, all of them big men well capable of handling themselves. And none of them would do anything to anger their boss, for any reason.
The monstrous side of Dumas lurked beneath the surface, and was rarely seen by anyone other then a prisoner or one of his own subordinates. But it began to stir as soon as he saw Kim led into the room. He didn't recognize her, mainly because he was more interested in what she was, rather then who. A young girl. He regarded her with a feral interest that he quickly banished from his face as the policemen who brought her in began the process of turning her over to him.
This took several minutes, and Dumas wasn't happy about Edouard LeMonde coming 'when he had time'. It limited his options, since he didn't know what LeMonde expected to find when he showed up. Fortunately, none of the policemen mentioned that they had been told to turn her over to him personally, or he would have assumed Carte Blanche in handling the girl. But there were still things he could do. He gestured for two of his men to put her in the room where searches were conducted. The fact that the police took their handcuffs back and none were substituted didn't bother him. But again, he hadn't recognized his new prisoner.
He chatted amiably as he went to the door with the policemen, picking up some gossip, and directly asking if there had been any signs of rebel infiltration of the capital. He had reason to be concerned about that, both for professional and personal reasons. Hearing nothing conclusive, he parted with them outside the main door, took a quick look up at the now-dark sky, and went inside to have some pleasure. Then the phone rang, and his night began going downhill. Scowling fiercely, he snatched it up and barked, "Dumas!"
"Dumas, this is President LeMonde!" Dumas' look changed to one of shock, followed by suspicion, but it vanished quickly, as the voice continued, "A new prisoner just arrived there, did she not?" Now Dumas was fairly certain no one was playing a trick on him, because he knew the President personally, and was certain that this was not an impostor on the line.
"Well, Sir, a female prisoner was just brought in, but whether or not she is the one you are asking about is the question, can you give me a better...." He winced and held the phone away from his ear as he was loudly interrupted.
"I MEAN KIM POSSIBLE, IS THAT CLEAR ENOUGH?" The pain in his ear was almost ignored due to the shock and confusion that swirled through Dumas' brain.
He took so long to manage a response that the President impatiently continued, "I said, is that clear enough, Dumas? You do still have her as a prisoner, do you not?"
"Y—yes!" he managed to stammer, "She is here, Sir! I just hadn't recognized her, that's all! But why is she here, Sir? Do you have any special instructions regarding her treat..."
"I most certainly do! She has been arrested, for reasons I have yet to determine, by order of my cousin, Edouard! Until I find out why, treat her properly! She has been 'arrested', Dumas, but I had better not hear that she's been 'molested'! I know your ways. And if it comes down to her word against you and all your men, I will be taking hers! And no accidents! If something happens to her without my express approval, you'll be reassigned back to the army, and given the job of taking on that green bitch one-to-one, do you clearly understand me? If I don't just lose patience and shoot you, that is! You have your orders, both regarding Kim Possible and your other prisoners, don't fail to carry them out, or you are dead, one way or another!" And he hung up without waiting for an acknowledgment.
Dumas briefly considered faking a proper farewell to the President, for the benefit of his staff, but it wasn't worth it to him right then. Besides, from the looks on their faces, they'd probably never fall for it, anyway. So he settled for regaining his composure, then starting across the office to a door opposite the one to the processing room, while glowering at that closed door, greatly disappointed not to be carrying out the 'processing' of this prisoner personally.
He rapped loudly on the door he'd approached, then entered. "Angelique! Get your lazy ass out here, there's a prisoner for you to process!" He bellowed as he entered. If he had hoped to catch the occupant of the room in an unguarded moment, he was badly disappointed. She was seated in a battered old recliner, foot rest up, reading a two-week old gossip magazine from the U.S..
In her late twenties, Angelique Grenier didn't look much like a prison matron. She looked like she should be out on a beach somewhere, in a barely-there swimsuit and a coat of suntan oil. Right now she was wearing a pair of old brown cargo pants and a white T-Shirt knotted under her breasts to expose a well-toned abdomen, along with a pair of battered sandals. She'd never have gotten away with such an outfit with Dumas if she didn't look so damn good in it.
Now she raised an eyebrow curiously as she regarded him. "And so? Is she too old, fat, or ugly for you to do it yourself?" There was a mix of sarcasm and anger underlying her tone, but she kept her expression carefully neutral beyond the eyebrow raising.
Dumas gritted his teeth, then spoke slowly and carefully. "You are being paid to do a job, Grenier, and it's time for you to earn your pay! I am in a bad mood, it is not the time to push me!" Having come to that conclusion belatedly herself, Angelique warily got to her feet, and followed Dumas as he spun and went back into the main office. He gestured angrily at the door to the processing room, then dropped into his chair. Looking around at the other guards, he barked, "Don't you have anything else to do?" And the office suddenly became vacant save for Angelique and him. She walked to the door, never taking her eyes off Dumas, opened it and slipped inside.
The room had no windows, and the only furnishings were a table in the center of the room and two battered stools. There were also some lights on tall stands for use in interrogations, and two or three empty wooden crates. Angelique grimaced at the sight of those. They weren't strongly built, but one slat broken off properly could make a dangerous weapon. But the idiot men put the crates in here for who knew what reason! Of course, they never left a prisoner in here unaccompanied normally. Tonight, however....
Angelique studied the prisoner, and recognized her almost immediately. She wasn't restrained at all, and was just leaning on the table, a curious look on her face as she studied Angelique. "Kim Possible?" she blurted out, then grimaced. "Pardon, of course you are!"
Kim smiled briefly and shrugged. "Yep, that's me! Not at my best, but that's not important right now, who're you?" She straightened up and stood swinging her arms idly as she waited for her answer. As a matter of habit, she'd already checked out the contents of the room, which hadn't taken long.
Momentarily nonplussed, Angelique quickly got her 'professional' mindset in place. "My name is Angelique Grenier, I'm in charge of searching and processing female prisoners, Miss Possible. Did anyone empty your pockets? Were you frisked at all?"
Kim shrugged again, showing her empty hands. "They just took my backpack, I was wondering why they didn't do more before, actually! Not that I have any weapons, all my mission gear including my belt is in the pack." She indicated her pockets. "Just my wallet and one lipstick in these. A real lipstick, not one of my special ones!"
Angelique nodded, then gestured towards the table. "Put them there, if you please." She then took her eyes off Kim, picking one of the empty crates up and then turning back towards the girl. Keeping one eye on Kim, she studied the carte a moment, turning it around in her hands, looking through the slats. Then she frowned, and put it down, then took up another. "I'm afraid we will have to do a strip search, Miss Possible." Kim made a face, but Angelique wasn't watching. She was nodding with satisfaction as she discovered that the bottom of the second crate had a solid bottom, with no gaps between the slats. She stepped over to a spot to the left of the door and set it back down, lying on it's side, so the bottom was against the wall.
"But..." She continued as she took hold of one of the lights and began to shift it's position, while studying a spot high on the wall, also to the left of the door. "I think we can skip the 'rubber glove' process. I hardly think your young friend, Wade Load? I hardly think he'd be designing you any gadgets to hide in those places, am I right?"
Kim, who had already emptied her pockets on the table, turned bright red at the thought. "H--hardly is right!" she stammered. She was shuffling her feet uneasily, dreading what was about to come. But she wasn't going to stall, she didn't want this woman losing patience with her, and maybe asking for help. Kim had noticed looks from some of the jail staff that suggested they would be glad to assist if Kim was difficult. The fact she could probably wipe the floor with the lot of them only mattered if she wanted to get in deeper trouble with the local authorities. For the moment, she didn't. She was however very curious about the woman's behavior.
After moving the light, Angelique picked up one stool and moved it to a new position, then walked over to Kim and took her by the shoulders, and moved her to a position just to the left of the table, if one's back was to the door. "Stand right there, please, and get undressed. Put your clothes on the table as you remove them." She then moved the other stool close enough for Kim to lean on, then took a seat on the one she'd first moved.
Kim scowled faintly, then sighed and began unlacing her boots.
In the office, Dumas sat brooding for several minutes after Angelique had entered the room. Then he rose, and checked to make sure none of his staff were around, listening to the sounds they were making in the guard's room and the cell block to try and judge how busy they were. Finally satisfied, he moved quietly to the door to the processing room, and carefully removed a tile next to the door jamb. Squatting down, he looked through a small peephole it had covered, giving him a clear view of the room. And frowned. Angelique's position on the stool was blocking his view of Kim Possible.
Frustrated, he replaced the tile. He then repeated his check on his minions, before going to his next option. He got down on hands and knees, and removed a piece of molding on the opposite side of the doorway. He had to put his ear on the floor to see through the peephole this revealed, but it always gave him a good view....except tonight, something was obstructing his view. Barely suppressing a snarl, he replaced the molding and got to his feet, brushing dirt out of his hair.
He stood for a moment, hands on hips, looking at the table that sat behind his desk. It held stacks of papers and forms, as well as a few items he'd confiscated from his own people. As he did, he remembered Kim's backpack, which still sat where the police had left it. But he shook his head, that could wait. He went to the table, and moved some of the papers to clear a space, then pulled over a stiff-backed chair to use to step up onto the table.
The peephole this time wasn't really concealed, it was in plain sight directly above a hung picture, and looked like someone had originally tried to hang the picture higher, then decided to bring it lower, and never plastered over the original hole. Dumas didn't like it, mostly because of the difficulty accessing it. Nevertheless, it did give him a good view of the other room...but not tonight, something was blocking it. The only thing tall enough would be one of the interrogation lights. "Damn those fools, not putting them back where they're supposed to be!"
This time he couldn't suppress a curse, which he followed by slamming both hands against the wall. Which was followed by an ominous 'crack' from the table beneath his feet.
"Please turn around." Angelique directed Kim. She had just done so when a dull thump came from behind Angelique, followed shortly afterwards by a shout that turned to a scream and a muffled crash from beyond the door. Kim spun around, trying to cover as much of herself as possible with two hands, as Angelique jumped up and spun to face the door herself. Kim stepped closer to her, keeping the older woman between herself and the door. "What happened?"
A slow smile spread across Angelique's face. "Just possibly, a little justice! You can get dressed again, we're done here. Leave off your boots and belt, though, just leave them on the table. Socks or barefoot, your choice." Kim chose barefoot.
When they emerged, all the guards were gathered around Dumas, who lay prone besides his desk, half of which was now bare, everything formerly on it now littering the floor around it's owner. "Hold still, Sir!" One guard was saying, "While I pull this out!" There was a grunt of pain, and the guard tossed a bloody pen onto the desk. "I've called for an ambulance, Sir! It should be here soon!" Another guard reassured his stricken boss.
"Listen!" Dumas gasped, "I need to tell you the special instructions for the prisoners!" He came into Kim's sight as he said this, and he saw her in turn, and his pain-filled expression gained an angry aspect. "G---get that little bitch in a---a cell, Grenier!" He managed to say. He remained silent as Kim was led into the cell block.
There were six cells in the block, and two of them were occupied as Kim was led to hers. Each by a single man, wearing what might have once been good clothing, now ragged and dirty. Both men had clearly been beaten, but were alert enough to study Kim with puzzled interest as she passed. Angelique almost led her to the last pair of cells, but suddenly halted, and led her back to one of the middle pair, indicating she should enter the one opposite one of the occupied ones.
The furnishings were no surprise, the smell of disinfectant a small one. The bunk sported a frayed blanket concealing whatever condition the mattress was in, and a small uncased pillow. There was a water tap protruding from the wall, but the sink that had been below it was missing, and had been replaced by a bucket. There were two of those, both cheap plastic and not much threat as weapons. Kim didn't want to think about what use she might have to make of the second one.
"I don't know what's going on, Miss Possible." Angelique said as she slid the cell door shut, "But the American Consul will probably be by to secure your release in the morning. Until then, try and make the best of it, I'll make sure none of your possessions are stolen."
Kim turned from her grim inspection of her accommodations to acknowledge her with a nod and the faintest of smiles. "Please and Thank You." She went over to the bunk and prodded it experimentally, Making a face as she did. Angelique hesitated a moment, then turned to leave the cell block. First, though, she looked at the other two prisoners, face conflicted, before shaking her head and walking away.
Kim sat down cautiously on the bed, scooted back and leaned back against the wall. "So, I finally get to see how the other half live? So not funny! I don't think I've ever put someone in a cell this bad, but then again, I've never gone to see how they've been treated by the system. I mean, what do they do with someone like Shego? I never asked what precautions they take to keep her powers neutralized. Not that she spends much time incarcerated, anyway! Just until GJ has to respond to requests by other agencies to interview her 'in relation to'. Then they have to transfer her to the other peoples' custody, in order to keep their own anonymity, and she promptly escapes!"
She looked up at the ceiling, where the paint was mostly reduced to a few patches here and there. "What could I have done differently? Resisted arrest? Hardly! Just have to hope Dad never hears about this, he has those memories of...well, just hope he doesn't hear, that's all!" She heaved a heavy sigh, "Guess I'll wait until tomorrow, and see if Angelique's right about the Consul. But what if she's wrong? So the Drama! I'll worry about that when I have to."
She pressed her head back against the wall and just let her mind go blank. And almost immediately heard voices. She tilted her head slightly one way, then the other, also turning it from side to side. After a moment, she shifted sideways on the bunk, and suddenly heard the faint voices clearly.
"...I'm saying that he won't be here if we do it, so he can't take the blame, we will! And they don't take 'following orders' as an excuse!" Came one urgent voice.
The voice that responded was more controlled. "Who do you think will be asking for your reasons, eh? The rebels? Not likely, you're dead no matter why you did it! Or rather, we did it! Look, I'm not happy about murder, but some of the things we've done in here before count as the same thing! Look, if the rebels win, we've got no chance! But if they lose, we have to live with President LeMonde! So, we carry out his orders, right? If the rebels get anywhere close to liberating those two men, we kill them, got it?" Kim heard what might have been a muttered reply, but she really wasn't paying attention now. "Well, that certainly changes things!" She thought, and a determined gleam came into her eyes. "Now, how to go about this?"
Well, there's the first chapter! This story is a prequel to my revised 'Four Seasons' storyline, though it should stand up well enough on it's own. In the next chapter, Kim takes action, and we find out more of what Drakken and Shego are up to.
For now, Please Read and Review