Bang Bang Part 2

Three Months Earlier. DSR Building, Los Angeles.

Carson Evans sat at her large, cluttered desk. A small lamp, the glow of her computer monitor and the muted television cast a warm, blue glow throughout the sparsely furnished office. It was late, almost past ten thirty, and she was feeling the hour tonight, more so than usual. They were all long days, of course, but this seemed so much more.

On the television screen to her side, played footage recorded the previous year during the interrogation of Agent Sydney Bristow. The young woman had become the buzz around the office and stayed that way ever since the fabled Rambaldi page was unearthed, ironically by the young agent herself. The Department of Special Research had lobbied hard to deepen their investigations after their initial failure to bring light to the mystery. Only now were results of this increased pressure beginning to yield results. Heightened interest by certain members of the NSA saw them able to push boundaries in what they could and could not do. Apprehending Sydney Bristow turned from a 'what if' to a 'when will it happen'. Of course they all told themselves the familiar spin; 'protecting the many, by neutralizing the few', but it did not always sit well. In truth though, there were very few things that did lately.

Removing Sydney Bristow from active duty had been the beginning of their plan, the paperwork filed a little under a month ago. The pretence was shady, the answers vague, but somehow their NSA liaison, Robert Lindsay, had seen to its' approval. The deal was signed and sealed, merely waiting for delivery.

It had not come to fruition. Shortly after, whether in response to the chain of events they had set forth, or by a random stroke of coincidence, her colleagues had been systematically removed. Killed by assailants unknown.

The FBI's inquiries proved ineffectual. The only leads uncovered, left more questions than they answered. All victims were shot at close range. The crimes caught on surveillance. Of course, a hack into the security systems had erased the perpetrators. Bodies covered by thick, black stick figures which mirrored the actions of those they were 'impersonating'. Right down to a large yellow smiling face on the shooter.

Soon after, Lindsay began distancing himself from the dealings altogether. Speculation circulated amongst governmental departments. Though many considered the work on Rambaldi 'fringe science' bordering on the extreme, it was one of the most closely guarded. Security measures increased three-fold around certain facilities; guarding against an enemy they were not sure they would even recognize. Carson Evans was certain however, whether indirectly or not, it was all connected to Sydney Bristow.

She flicked through the photos lying beside her keyboard. She was not unaccustomed to the gruesome and grotesque in her line of work, but these hit too close to home. Carson wondered briefly if she was to be the next victim. Was it their greed for Rambaldi's work, or their collective fear of the so-called Chosen One that had sealed all their fates? Something told her the crisp, white business card propped onto her keyboard would be either an answer or the beginning of more questions. It was embossed with a silver symbol and a time. She had fifteen minutes until she discovered if it was to be the former or the latter.

Carson stepped out of the elevator and scanned the car park quickly. She saw the man standing beside her vehicle, waiting on her arrival.

Arvin Sloane? How the hell did he even get in here? She pondered this absurd turn of events and checked her cell phone. No signal, she sighed as she realized the ridiculousness of believing a signal would be possible in here. She put on what she felt was her fiercest scowl and walked to meet the man.

"Good evening, Dr. Evans. I'm so glad you could join me." Arvin Sloane offered his hand to the woman.

"Presumptuous enough of you to seek me out for this farce of a meeting, but thinking I will shake your hand? The reports are correct, you are delusional." She shook her head in disgust.

Arvin allowed a small smile to spread over his face. Withdrawing his hand, he straightened his plum coloured tie, the pads of his finger and thumb running down either side of the silk fabric. He un-buttoned his coat and removed a manilla folder from an inside pocket.

Carson Evans' eyes moved to her right, then her left. The car park was deserted, only two cars remaining at this late hour. No shadows, no distant footfalls to be heard. The only movement being the silent presence of the security cameras which monitored the underground complex. The tension between her shoulder blades eased slightly, sensing no immediate danger. She was after all, in a government facility; 3 stories below ground level, one hundred metres by one hundred metres of nothing but concrete and open views.

"I am in good company then, Dr. Evans." Sloane offered the folder to the blonde woman standing before him.

"What is this supposed to be?" Gemini Project? Now she recognized the symbol from the business card she received. What does this son of a bitch have planned? Evans shook her head again. "I don't even have to look at this." She threw the folder back to the older man, papers floating to the dark, oil-stained bitumen. "Absolutely laughable. You believe I would be willing to make some kind of deal with you?"

She paused a moment, pondering Sloane again, before taking another look behind her. There was no-one to be seen, only four blank walls. She felt a whisper of a breeze caress her neck. Her hand reached around and scratched absent-mindedly at the nape. Smoothing down her ragged pony tail, she turned back to face him.

"Wait, what do you mean, in good company?" Her sudden compulsion to turn again was met with the same blank wall. There was no-one there. Carson Evans felt a tinge of confusion sweep her as a cold sweat formed under the collar of her white cotton dress shirt. She thumbed at her neck to ease the choking sensation that was threatening to overcome her nerve. Looking to the ground, she noticed the papers that had fallen from the folder. They were all as blank as the walls.

"Of course, this was just a courtesy call, after all" A slight chuckle fell from Sloane's surprisingly warm face. "Laughable is your own belief I would be here to make a deal with you. Now, from where I am standing, that seems rather.." A short pause as Sloane stepped to within a hair of the Doctor, now whispering to her ear "..delusional to me. Making deals with the dead? " He scoffed.

"I will not be intimidated by the likes of you. This complex has surveillance, any attempt made on me would be futile." Her voice faltered a little. "I am not sure what you could even possibly hope to achieve by taking out myself, and my team for that matter, which I am sure you are behind, but rest assured, it will not be allowed to continue."

Evans made a limp attempt at raising her finger accusingly to Sloane's chest. "However many friends you think you have protecting you, the pockets you have lined with your deception and trickery, it will not be enough. The United States government is not in the business of consorting with terrorists." She took a sharp, deep breath, her body betraying the cool façade she was trying desperately to convey.

Sloane rolled his eyes and nodded, pulling something else from his pocket. A small, rectangular piece of plastic attached to a shiny metallic clip. "Now really, good doctor, is that any way to speak to a colleague?" He flashed his credentials to the shocked face of the woman opposing him. "Well, perhaps more of a silent partner, you could say." He added as an afterthought.

Evans stepped backward toward her car, eyes firmly trained on Arvin Sloane. Shaking hands fumbled in pockets, searching for keys. She pressed the central-locking button so hard her thumbnail began turning white.

"Over my dead body will we be colleagues, Mr. Sloane." She turned swiftly and was about to set herself down into her car seat when her head turned to an approaching man.

"Now, that's the spirit! It can also be arranged!" A booming voice echoed across the car park.

She had not heard the elevator door ding; nor had she noticed the tall, almost giant man striding toward her; not until it was too late. Carson's eyes, her complete attention and contempt had been aimed squarely at one man only.

"You would not believe how long I have been waiting for someone to say that!" The man was a vision in white. Pristine, blinding white. The suit was cut slim down his gangly legs, shoulders jutting out at extreme right angles. His slicked-back hair was jet black, shining, even under the dull lighting of the car park. Black, horn-rimmed glasses sat high on his full nose, obscuring his brown, bulging eyes.

The maniacal glee on his face spoke volumes, as he revealed a similar plastic card as Sloane had done just moments earlier.

"Cody Hennessey, FBI!" He shoved the card into her face, his fist almost punching her in the nose in his eagerness, and raised one brow, his lip turned up into a sneer. He noticed the look Sloane sent his way and backed away a short distance. The sneer turned into a huge, toothy grin and he nodded to the older man. "Not really." He whispered to the un-amused woman, as he nudged her arm with his elbow.

"You know, the order to terminate, your..." Sloane cleared his throat a little, "...employment was not directly my choice. I was more than happy for you and your colleagues to participate in our work on Gemini; in fact, the convenience would of offset any misgivings my partners had, but, apparently you made the wrong people uncomfortable, Dr. Evans."

"Ahh, friends in high places...security clearance...orders to kill..." Hennessey's hand appeared from behind his back in the blink of an eye. One unseemly long arm set stiffly forward, he fired 3 bullets to the chest of Carson Evans without a drop of blood staining his suit. "...That's a real bitch, for ya, doc." Sliding the safety back on, he spun the weapon on his trigger finger and slid it delicately into the back of his trousers again.

Hennessey placed a finger to his ear and nodded. "We have two minutes until Esther's blackout is released, Mr. Sloane."

"Very good. Thank-you, Mr. Hennessey. Oh, and please, be sure to send your wife my compliments; her work is really quite wonderful."

As soon as the car was clear of the complex, Sloane made the call he had been waiting the past three months for. "Jonathon?"

"I trust all went well, Arvin?" Jonathon Edwards' face stretched into a slow smile.

"We are in business. Please pass on my regards to Mr. Lindsay."

One Week Later.

Lauren Reed could of thought of a thousand things she would rather be doing on this chilly Friday night in down town Los Angeles. Stripping in her boss's car and abduction were not on her list. At least the streets were relatively quiet. She would hate anyone, even complete strangers, to think this was for his benefit.

She kicked her feet out of her black sling backs and slid her pinstripe pencil skirt down her legs. With as much grace as was possible manoeuvring in the back seat, she stepped her toes into the legs of her charcoal skinny leg jeans. Raising her hips, she pulled them up, almost squeezing her innards as she buttoned the vice like fastening. Eyes forward, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off. Lauren smiled at the man ogling her rather obviously via the rear vision mirror. Reaching around to remove her bra, her blood-red lacquered talons discovered something which proved infinitely more satisfying.

Taking the pair of mauve, stilettoed leather boots in her hands, she stepped out of the car and opened the driver's side door. The look in the man's eye almost made her laugh out loud. What I wouldn't give for a good looking asshole for a change.

"Mr. Lindsay, you will either avert your eyes or I will remove them." Lauren glanced to the spiked heel, then to her employer. His stature instantly floundered.

Pulling on both boots, she placed one leather clad foot on the man's thigh, inches from his groin. She dug the heel in deep, as she zipped it closed.

"Are we in agreement, Sir?" She ground it in just a little further for good measure. If only the smug bastard could take a look at himself now. She smiled at him again.

He nodded and she repeated the action for her other foot.

"Marvellous."

Stepping back, Lauren resumed her activities. A black cashmere turtleneck was slipped over her head and a tranquilliser gun tucked discreetly underneath. She fixed her dark, glossy locks into a tight chignon. One deep breath and she was ready.

She heard her superior's voice as she turned out of the alleyway, where their car was hidden from view.

"Miss Reed. Are you done now?" He sounded rather agitated, she thought. "I would like to get this under way sometime tonight."

It was shortly followed by a rather loud, "Bitch!" which she wasn't entirely sure she heard or imagined, but it delighted the young woman all the same.

With a shrug of the shoulders and a lock pick to the door, she entered Francie Calfo's life. In more ways than one, mused Lauren.Surveillance on Calfo had revealed two passions; her restaurant and her friends. She closed the front door to the establishment and sought out her target.

"Will? Is that you?" Called a voice from the kitchen.

Lauren entered the room with a smile. "Would you believe me if I told you I was lost?"

"I'm sorry, we're closed." Francie faltered a moment. "Wait. Do I know you? Your face seems, familiar?" She was questioning herself more than the other woman.

"No, but you will soon."

Lauren raised her weapon and shot Francie; the dart piercing her neck and sending her to the floor almost immediately. She lifted the larger woman, supporting her weight with her shoulder and one guiding arm around the waist. They exited through the front door and headed back to the car.

If Lauren had not been a girl with ambiguous motives and dubious acquaintances, she would have been wholly dismayed by the people passing them in the street. Of the few couples and one group of adolescent males they encountered, only one elderly chap questioned the unconscious woman being dragged along.

"Can't take her liquor, the poor dear." Lauren had smiled and patted Francie on the head.

Lauren rapped on the car window and motioned Lindsay for help. Depositing her in the back seat, they headed to their second destination for the night.

It was well after 4 a.m. when the car pulled up to the curb. Will looked out of the window and saw Francie stumbling up the path. He opened the front door, wearing his best where the hell have you been look. He heard her call out "bye",and then the car was gone.

"Hey, baby!" She grabbed him around the neck and led him inside.

"Francie! Where the hell have you been? I have been calling the restaurant, your cell; your mother for God's sakes!" He looked down at the doe-eyed plead of innocence she gave him.

Holding her tighter, he combed his fingers through her hair. "Yeah, so, that look is not gonna wash this time, Francie. What's goin' on?"

"I met up with some friends after closing up shop tonight." She shrugged. (She was abducted and knocked out by a vixen wearing Chanel No.5.)

"Umm, hi." He gave her a mock wave and pointed to himself. "Boyfriend here! We had made plans, I came to pick you up at 11:30, but you weren't there."

"We went to this club. I possibly had a few too many drinks." She giggled and sat down on the arm of the sofa. (She was carried into a white room and strapped down on a reclining metallic chair. A blindingly bright light was shining inches from her face.)

Will took her purse and looked for her phone; 8 missed calls. He raised his brow at her.

"It was noisy!" (A sound, loud. Like a dentist's drill duelling with a leaf blower screamed through her ears.)

"And I thought I was supposed to be the irresponsible one. Shit Francie, I called the cops, your mom, she is like, pissed, you better..." Her mouth on his ended his tirade momentarily.

He pulled her away, hands gripping her arms, almost shaking her. Her eyes seemed to shudder a moment, as a rush of blood flowed from her nose.

"Oh, ew." Her hand touched her face and she quickly stood up to find a tissue from the bathroom. "Sorry, Will." She dabbed at her nose, looking in the cabinet mirror. (A face. A man; small, dark eyes; short, greying hair. A long silver tube. Intense pressure on her forehead. )

"Just, pinch the bridge of your nose, Francie. Would you like some water? Tylenol?"

"It's OK, I feel fine." She smiled. (It is OK, Miss Calfo. He touched her shoulder. You will be fine.)

"Are you sure?" He reached out for her and pulled her body to his.

"I am sure that I am sure." (A woman. Dark hair, smoky eyes. Too much perfume.)

Will seemed unconvinced.

"Look. I started this...course. Creative writing!" Her face was wearing the same smile as if frozen. "I suppose I was too embarrassed to tell you." (Catherine will be your contact. An alias. She is a friend. The enemy. You like to write. The cover. About Sydney Bristow. The plan.)

"Uh, pardon?" His eyes widened in disbelief, he shook his head. "Two days ago you were complaining you never had time anymore..."

"I guess..." She placed her hands on his chest, "I decided..." rubbing up to his shoulders, "to make time..." fingers linking around his neck, "for things..." she pulled his mouth to within a whisper of her own, "I really want." This time, she did not let him pull away.