Chapter Two: Distant Thunder
Sasha realized something the moment he opened the door to his office later that morning.
He had nothing to do.
In the past three days he'd finished every late report (including Milla's), updated the status of every case currently on his desk (again, as well as Milla's), and answered queries concerning the funding for his latest project (doomed to failure, of course, but he still had some faint hope of getting it started). If nothing else, his nightmares had made his work habits even more efficient.
As it was, he found himself in need of something to do to keep his mind off of things. He could always go into Milla's office and retrieve a few files with cases that needed to be reviewed but…he wasn't entirely comfortable with that. Not when she wasn't in her office, anyway.
He wasn't sure when he finally fell asleep, but it was a welcome respite from the migraine he'd suffered all morning. He'd been lulled into it by the steady pounding of the rain outside and the silence of the hallways inside. It wasn't until he heard someone clear their throat behind him that he snapped awake.
"You know, Nein, we do pay you enough to afford a place to stay." The voice was harsh, not unlike the braying of an obnoxious donkey. Which was fitting, in a way, since Sasha often thought of the voice's owner as an utter ass.
Agent Harpham, nearly twice the age of most agents employed by the Psychonauts and never hesitant to remind them of it, stood at a mere five and a half feet tall. His hair was an oily black, glued to his scalp with an unnecessary amount of hair product, with a hairline that seemed to be in full retreat towards his neck. He was currently smirking at Sasha, holding a thick manila folder against his chest.
Annoyed and more than a little embarrassed at being caught unawares, Sasha snapped at him as he straightened his tie. "Yes, Harpham? I assume you came in here for a reason. You don't tend to waste your time on the lower classes."
Harpham chuckled, handing Sasha a memo. "Funny, Nein, I didn't know Germans were capable of humor."
"We aren't. We're honest." He replied, taking the paper and scanning it over. He frowned. "…What the hell is this?"
"Ah, yes, that's why I came. It seems Judge Garrison has requested your presence in his courtroom this morning."
"I'm well of aware of that. What I want to know is why." He frowned, his headache returning full force. Garrison had been a necessary evil ever since word of the Whispering Rock incident got out—it was obvious to the government that the Psychonauts couldn't be bothered to keep tabs on the actions of their agents, so they sent someone in to help them along. Someone who had no idea what it was like to be psychic and didn't care to hear about it. Like most other government agencies, the Psychonauts would have happily ignored Garrison—were it not for the fact that he had the power to suspend agents from fieldwork indefinitely.
Harpham was all but grinning. "I believe he said something about the Betruger case."
"Mein Gott—that was years ago. What on earth would make him look into past cases?" The Betruger case had been one of his first assignments—an undercover operation that ended messily. He'd spent a month in the hospital recovering from it.
"Well, ever since Oleander decided to deal with his inner bunny issues, most of the other agents have cleaned up their acts. And we can't just let a man like Garrison sit around all day with nothing to do…so I gave him access to some of our old cases. To keep him busy, you know." He said, idly toying with the line of pens arranged across Sasha's desk.
Sasha grumbled, waving him away from his desk. "Only Truman can grant someone access to those files—"
"Unfortunately, Grandmaster Truman was called away to help the President assure the public that they're safe from the psychic terrorists running rampant across Europe." He shrugged. "He'll be gone for the rest of the day. Which leaves me in charge."
If Sasha knew Truman wouldn't have his head for it, he would've set Harpham's oily head aflame and laughed maniacally while the man burned. As it was, he scowled at paper in his hand. Harpham, his task complete, turned to leave and then paused and looked down at the folder in his hand. In a move that was obviously practiced, he casually spoke over his shoulder to Sasha, flipping through the file.
"If you see Milla, tell her to come by my office. I've got an assignment for her. Pity you won't be able to join her, but…"
What had only been mild annoyance now turned to full blown anger. Sasha's tone broke away from the carefully neutral and entered outright hostility. "She just got back from a solo assignment! You can't keep sending her out alone—"
"Actually, she just got back from a vacation after a solo assignment." He pointed this out with a softness that was almost patronizing. "Relax, Nein, it's not as if we're working her to death. Besides, she isn't going alone."
That did nothing to calm his anger, but it did distract him temporarily. Sasha quirked a brow at him. "What?"
"Yes. She's going with Agent Aquato." Sensing his already worn out welcome coming to an end, Harpham walked out of Sasha's office, calling back to the fuming agent. "Send him by my office, too. Thanks!"
Once Sasha overcame the sudden violent urge to chase Harpham down and throw him off the roof of the building (preferably getting struck by a bolt of lightning on the way down), he folded up the memo Harpham had given him and walked out into the hall, shutting the door behind him. He was so focused on keeping control of his temper that he didn't notice it at first. A slight, tingling sensation along the back of his neck, as if someone was watching him. He became more alert, pausing outside his door to straighten his tie while sought out the hidden watcher, tentatively seeking out any psychic traces. It took him awhile, but he finally came across one. It was very faint; whoever was watching him knew how to keep hidden, though their form was a bit sloppy. Ah. The ceiling.
Now that he focused on energy and knew the general location of where it came from, he was able to seek out the source. This, too, took longer than he would like to admit, possibly due to the migraine, but he found it. Suppressing a small smirk, the agent glanced up at the ceiling. "Good morning, Razputin."
There was a brief pause, and then the ceiling replied, "You're creepy."
A moment later, a thin, lanky form emerged from the ceiling and dropped down beside Sasha with a grace the older agent envied. Razputin Aquato, twelve years old and well on his way to becoming one of the greatest agents the Psychonauts had ever seen, stood up to Sasha's shoulder after enduring a sudden growth spurt over the past year. He was still painfully thin, and his eyes had never quite lost that spark of innocence that Sasha had first seen two years ago at Whispering Rock. He hoped the young man wouldn't lose his cheerful outlook.
Amused, Sasha began to walk down the hall, followed by his lanky protégé. "How, exactly, am I creepy?"
"No one else has ever found me when I'm invisible, except for you." He thought for a moment, and then spoke again. "Heeey, I've never seen you without your sunglasses—they must have some sort of infrared scanner or something! That must be it!"
Snorting in amusement, Sasha shook his head. "No, though such scanners do tend to reveal hidden psychics. I'm just more thorough at locating the source of psychic energy than others."
"Oh. Then you found me because you're obsessive-compulsive."
"No, I'm thorough. There's a difference."
"You're thoroughly obsessive compulsive?"
Sasha felt his migraine growing worse. "…Agent Harpham is looking for you. He says he has an assignment—" Before he was able to finish the sentence, Raz had sprinted down the hall in the opposite direction, eyes bright with excitement.
Shaking his head again, Sasha continued down the hall to Milla's office. They were once given the option to have their offices moved next to each other but the arrangements had never really gone through for some reason.
He paused just outside of it, surprised to find Milla's office door slightly ajar. She was forgetful at times, but she had never forgotten to lock up her office. His shock increased when he stepped inside to find Milla herself in the office; she wasn't known for being late, per se, but she was never so early. Cautiously, he pushed her door open and peered inside.
Her office was just as colorful and full of character as Milla herself. The walls were covered in bright posters and plaques commemorating selfless acts to her fellow Psychonauts in the line of duty. Pictures of her family in Brazil and mementos from the campers at Whispering Rock often decorated the wall next to her door and it was one of these that briefly caught his eye. It was a photo of himself along the banks of Lake Oblongata, sopping wet with his clothes clinging to his thin body in the sunlight as he telekinetically held an angry Bobby Zilch away from an oblivious Vernon waving at the camera. A canoe, billowing black smoke into the sky, sank beneath the water behind them. He smirked, remembering the occasion.
Two years ago, Milla had insisted on teaching the children how to canoe and somehow convinced him to help, claiming he would actually like the children if he only spent more time with them. One fiery boat ride later, she admitted that maybe it wasn't such a great idea after all, but at least she got a great picture out of it. After taking the picture down, he walked inside, taking a more focused look around.
She was idly toying with the lamp on her desk, frowning in thought. The action was a quirk—she once told him she couldn't quite think right unless she was doing something with her hands.
Her desk was cluttered and organized in a way that any logical person would find horrifying. It also bore a reproduction Tiffany lamp that he threatened to purge from existence on a daily basis. (He was almost convinced she kept it for the sole purpose of tormenting him.)
For someone who had just returned from an extended stay with their family, she looked horrible. There were bags under her eyes, and the playful spark usually present in her eye was curiously absent. It was as if some inner light within her had dimmed; her actions were off somehow, hesitant. That worried him. He wondered if he should try to talk to her, see if there was something wrong in her personal life--
Not ethical, Nein. Insulting to her, as well; she deserves better than you.
Right. Of course. There were boundaries that shouldn't be crossed; the damage it would cause would be irreparable. He rapped against the door frame to get her attention and frowned at her startled jump. Something was clearly bothering her. When she saw it was him, she relaxed and smiled, waving him inside.
He walked in slowly, ignoring the offered chair. It would be best for them both if he didn't make himself too comfortable. "Ah, forgive me, I hadn't meant to startle you—"
"No, no, it's alright, Sasha." Her smile wasn't forced, but it wasn't as bright as he remembered. "What did you need, darling?"
"Agent Harpham is looking for you. He says he has an assignment he needs you to work on." There was a long pause and he spoke in a quieter, almost hesitant tone. "I also came by to welcome you back. You had, ah, quite the vacation, I presume."
"Mm, nothing worth mentioning. What kind of assignment does he have for us?" He quirked a brow at her; Milla always shared stories of her adventures at home (for that was what they always were—nothing was ever boring around Milla) with him.
"For you and Razputin, actually. I'm due for a hearing with our honorable judge."
Alarmed, she stopped toying with her lamp. "What? Why?"
"Harpham gave him access to the past cases and I was 'fortunate' enough to be the first agent he looked up. He's questioning the Bertruger case."
"Oh. When you—" At his look, she cleared her throat. "I'm sure you'll be able to convince him that what you did was necessary, darling. He's a…sensible man."
Sasha snorted. She reached over to squeeze his hand, giving him the first genuine smile he had seen from her today. "You'll be fine, Sasha. He can't suspend you from field work; Truman would have his head."
He gave a noncommittal grunt, though he was reassured by her support. "Perhaps. You should go see Harpham before he strangles Razputin, however. I, ah, sent him ahead."
Milla chuckled, standing up from her desk. "You're an evil man, Nein. You know Harpham can't stand being near someone with a soul." Then, teasingly, "Maybe that's why he usually goes to speak with you above anyone else when he's in charge."
He smirked as they walked towards the door. "Very funny, Vodello. You should have been a comedian."
"Mm, but then I wouldn't be able to pick on you." She winked at him, grinning, and closed the door before walking down the hall. He found himself fighting down a slight blush.
A voice from inside the office across from Milla's spoke, laced with a British accent, "She's gotten awfully chummy with you, Nein. She'd be a lot more chummy with you if you'd let her, you know."
Sasha grumbled, embarrassment growing slightly. "So good of you to update me on Milla's preferences, Hobs. I wasn't aware your hearing had improved since the assignment in Britain."
"My hearing's fine, Nein. For example, I heard you have a meeting with Garrison."
Sighing, Sasha rubbed his temples. Sometimes, having an office near a telepathist was annoying. "If you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with the records department."
Hobs called after him. "I'm rootin' for ya, mate!"
Sasha sincerely hoped that would make a difference. Hoped, but doubted it. He still had a few hours to review the case file and prepare his defense.
Maybe that would be enough.
Milla had just barely stepped inside Harpham's office when the man greeted her. "Ah, Agent Vodello! I didn't hear you knock."
"It's hard to knock on an open door, darling." She smiled, sitting down in one of the uncomfortable chairs Harpham had deemed appropriate for guests in his office. Razputin was perched on the other, peering over the man's desk, trying to peek at the file Harpham had secured under his palm. "I almost didn't recognize it; usually you have it locked and shut with guard dogs patrolling the halls."
Harpham's office was twice as large as most in Psychonauts HQ and he had been sure to fill it with furniture that reminded you of it. His desk was huge, polished to a bright sheen, and kept just far enough from the chairs that one had to lean forward at an uncomfortable angle to look at anything on his desk.
"You share your partner's talent for humor, Vodello." He said dryly, pushing a photo of a young woman towards them. "Your assignment is a simple one. I need you two to find this girl."
Milla's eyebrows rose. She recognized that face. "Andrea Ruszkiewcz? I was informed she had been killed."
Raz just stared at her. "How can you even pronounce that?"
Harpham ignored Raz, speaking to Milla directly as he flipped through the manila folder. "That's what we thought, too, until Truman received a call from her this morning." He pulled a few papers from the file and handed them to her. Raz leaned over her shoulder to get a better look. "It seems she's alive and well—and in need of our protection. From what or whom, she refused to say, except that an underground organization is looking to kill her. She's holed up in southern Georgia, waiting for you two to come down and escort her back here."
Milla was scanning over the details of the case. "Condenar?"
"Some port town founded by a shipwrecked Spanish crew when Columbus got lost. It's been full of lowlifes and scum ever since." He leaned back in his chair. "We don't think any of the people looking for her has gotten wind of this just yet, but that won't last long. Someone's going to pick up her trail eventually."
"Then we should leave immediately before that happens." She sighed, taking the photograph. The woman in the picture was thin, with sunken brown eyes and a grim set to her jaw. "Do we any idea on where to meet her?"
"She gave us an address for some seedy hotel out in the boondocks. Brook Hollow Inn." He nodded to the folder, finally sliding it over to her. "The address and your plane tickets are in here."
Surprised, Milla flipped the folder open. "…These tickets are for a plane that leaves in three hours. The airport is half an hour away and neither of us is packed, Harpham."
He grinned and shrugged. "You said it yourself, Vodello. The sooner you leave, the less likely you'll run into trouble."
As they left his office, Milla idly wondered why no one had thrown Harpham out of a window just yet. Her thought was answered by another.
Maybe they didn't want to ruin a good window?
Raz grinned at her and she tried to give him a disapproving look, but failed and chuckled. "You need to spend less time with Sasha, darling. His cynical outlook is rubbing off on you." She glanced at the file in her hands and sighed. "We should leave now and buy clothes when we get to the town. The traffic in this weather will guarantee we miss our flight if we try to go home and pack."
"That's okay. I can get another three days out of these clothes." The young agent responded cheerfully when they walked towards the entrance and obediently showed their badges at the checkpoints along the way. The rain had worsened since that morning and was coming down with greater force, aided by a unseasonably warm wind.
Milla wrinkled her nose at the thought, unlocking her car in the parking lot and diving into the driver's seat before the rain ruined her hair. "That's not entirely healthy, sweetie."
Razputin grinned at her, sliding into the passenger seat. "Neither is dealing with Harpham."
She managed to give him a disapproving look this time, though it wasn't as harsh as she would have liked.
The moment they got on the road, Raz turned to other subjects, cheerfully asking her about past cases and if she used to be race car driver. Amused, she answered him, secretly glad that she wasn't forced to work another solo case—she needed time to recover from the last one.
And Razputin was providing her the distraction she needed to keep away from the memories of that disastrous mission in the desert.
Ten minutes later, a man left Psychonauts HQ and took a winding, circular route to a less reputable part of town.
He was careful in both the location and time of the call. It wasn't likely that anyone would pick up his trail—psychically or otherwise—this far out, but it was better safe than sorry. Shrugging his jacket collar up over his ears in a vain attempt to shut out the harsh wind and even harsher rain, he ducked his head down and stepped into a phone booth, slamming the door shut behind him. After glancing around to make sure he hadn't been spotted, he dropped the required amount into the coin slots and pounded in an all too familiar number. After a few moments of listening to the rain, "They're on the way."
The voice on the other end was pleased, though warmth never once entered its tone. The Romanian accent was clear through the rain and wind. "Good. I have one more task for you."
The Psychonaut growled into the phone, clenching his fist. "No. I've done enough dirty work for you to cover my debt--"
"I don't believe you're in a position to refuse me, my friend. A simple phone call could easily clear up all the confusion concerning your partner's tragic disappearance…"
The man seethed, glaring at the phone. After several moments had passed, he spoke again, his tone carefully neutral. "What do you need me to do?"
