Chapter 5: Collision
The air was musty as Taylor walked her circuit on the building's bottom floor. "How did I end up with the basement?" she asked herself. "I am probably the most qualified guard in this building and they stuck me with the basement."
A month had passed since Luciano had declared the Signal Nine. In that time, she had gotten herself a job under an assumed name working as a security guard in the National Archives building. Even though she could have produced an extensive list of qualifications, including her history as an AIS agent, she had to leave that behind because it could lead to a clue about who she was which could lead to her capture or even death. And she wasn't ready to die. So, she dealt with the hazing and menial positions and tasks that she had been assigned, handling everything that was thrown at her with ease, but still saying under the radar; not being too impressive, but managing to scrape by.
Her black tennis shoes made little sound on the concrete floor as she continued her trek around the rectangular corridor that comprised the backbone of the basement of the National Archives, her feet never breaking their deceptively even, calm, easy, lazy stride. The only thing that set her apart from the other guards was the pair of sunglasses that she wore as she was dressed the same, right down to the brand of the pantsuit that she wore. The sunglasses were actually infra-red glasses with special filters so that any sudden burst of light wouldn't blind her. They were her cheat sheet, so to speak, in this game that the other guards were playing and she was winning.
The glasses allowed her to see every living thing around her, but, for the moment, the only things that she had seen were mice and spiders. Nevertheless, she walked with a Glock in hand, cocked, safety off, and ready for use. Something was about to happen; she could feel it.
At that moment, she was approaching a corner. Reaching it, she paused for a moment, she thought she heard footsteps in the corridor, but they halted at the same moment that hers did. She hesitated for a moment, then decided upon a course of action.
Rounding the corner, she continued as though she had dismissed the threat. That was the moment that she saw him. Had she not been wearing the infra-red glasses, she never would have been able to see him. He was small and only slightly taller than she was. All of this she noticed in a fleeting glance as she continued walking right past him as though she hadn't seen him. About three meters later, she rounded a corner and froze. Then, she turned around and, leveling her gun, crept back around the corner.
He had moved away from the wall and was edging back the way that she had come, towards the stairs that led to the world above ground. Obviously, he had a mission. Also obviously, he didn't need to be caught by the government. Therefore, he could prove to be enlightening.
"Freeze," Taylor commanded, her voice low and even, leaving no room for argument.
He stiffened and froze, obviously furious with himself for being caught.
"Who are you and why are you here?" she demanded as she turned the lights on. The boy was temporarily blinded and she took advantage of the opportunity to close the distance between them and handcuff him.
Once his hands were secured behind his back, she removed her sunglasses and took a good look at the boy. He was the one that had left her thinking for a long time. He had induced an attack of the morals and, unknowingly, made her put her career and, knowing the Genovesans, her life on the line. "Stone," she said, sizing up the boy, ensuring that the boy's face matched the name that had stuck with her. As luck would have it, whether good or not, the boy standing handcuffed in front of her was none other than Darrel Stone.
It was obvious, when looking at Stone, that he had been well-trained in the art of concealment, something that the Academy did not teach until a far more advanced level than the one that he had been in. Instead of wearing black, which most people assumed was the most effective color for becoming a shadow, he wore dark grey, which was actually the best. Wearing black would make the wearer darker than the shadows around them, thus making them more visible to a trained eye. Dark gray was the color of the shadows, thus more effective for concealment. Further assisting his concealment was the cut of the clothes that he wore. The hoodie he wore unzipped was baggy, to help break up the shape of his body and make it less recognizable as being a human. His shirt under the hoodie fit him well, showing off a lean, wiry species of muscle that was ideal for an assassin. Or a Ranger.
"I'm guessing that, since you're smart enough to wear dark grey instead of black, you're smart enough to use an alias. Especially when undercover in a spy academy. So, what is your name?"
He didn't answer her.
"You owe me, Ranger."
He glanced at her in surprise for a moment. "Will," he answered.
"I like that better than 'Darrel Stone.'"
He nodded. "So do I. Now, can you let me go, please?"
"Are you going to tell me what you're doing here?"
"No."
"I thought as much. Now, there is a gala going on four stories above us, so there's a distraction for some of the guards. We're in the National Archives building, therefore, you're looking for some sort of information. You're natively from Araluen and you're well trained and, obviously not a Genovesan or with the AIS because I would know you, therefore, you must be a Ranger. Said information likely pertains to the Rangers or is something of interest to them. Now, what I want to know is if you want help," she analyzed.
"Help?" He looked at her incredulously. "From a Genovesan?"
"I'm an agent working for AIS. How do you think I became a government employee?"
He said nothing, but it had been a rhetorical question. He knew she was a Genovesan, he simply didn't know how high up she had infiltrated. Until then. How else would a girl her age, though she could pass for much older, be at the level that she was?
"The facts are simple: You want to access some part of the National Archives; I have the security clearance to get you most of the way. If you don't accept my help, I can simply turn you in. You've been well trained, but I've been better trained. If you try to run, then you will feel either a knife or a bullet between your shoulder blades. So, I'd recommend you stop trying to pick that lock."
He looked at her, surprised that she'd noticed.
"Now," she continued. "Do we have a deal? Before you answer, the only other guard with infra-red glasses will be coming through here in about forty-five seconds and you don't have the time to make it. I can promise you that he will not offer you a better deal."
Taylor had suspected that one of the other guards had infra-red glasses, but she wasn't sure. However, with Will, she didn't want to take the chance.
"Deal."
"Excellent. Now, for this first part, you're going to have to trust me."
Those words didn't exactly have a positive connotation for Will. What have I gotten myself into? It wasn't the first time he had thought that with regard to the girl standing in front of him. I really hope she's serious because, otherwise, I'm screwed. If this fails, I'm dead.
Like Will, Taylor was also mentally berating herself. Why did I do this? I'll have to show them who I am. And what then? I won't be able to go back to working here. I'll probably have to leave again. I'll have become a traitor to the Genovesan Profession and they will try to kill me. That would mean that the only safe place for me will be with the Rangers. The Rangers probably won't accept me. So, what then? That was when her morals chose to voice themselves. Save this one. She had put herself on the line to save Will once and whatever wanted her to save him that first time wanted her to save him again. Save this one.
Taylor prodded and shoved Will towards the stairs where they quickly encountered the other security guard with infra-red glasses, one who always seemed to have far too large of a budget.
"Where did the flea find the rat?" he asked gruffly, attempting to take possession of Taylor's hostage. "I'll take this one off your hands for you so you can go back to scrounging around the basement." He obviously thought that Taylor, who, around him, had been maintaining the persona of a lost little girl, would immediately agree to have the big, bad prisoner taken off her hands. However, the result surprised him extensively.
Taylor pulled out her wallet and displayed a very well-known badge. "AIS. Get out of my way and get your hands off of my suspect." Her voice resounded with a steel that she knew that the guard had not experienced before when dealing with her. She also applied the Tuscan accent that she had carefully groomed during her years as an agent. She used it when she worked for AIS, why not use it now? The sound added authority and credibility to her speech.
The other man backed off immediately. He had not encountered this side of the girl before and, if she really was AIS, she could have him arrested for interfering with her investigation. "Go on."
Ten minutes later, she strode up to the security checkpoint with Will in tow and several shell-shocked guards in her wake. "I'm afraid that I'm going to have to take the rest of the evening off, gentlemen."
"Not possible, Lang. The gala is not over for another three hours. Check the prisoner into a holding cell and return to your circuit," the supervisor instructed, barely looking at her.
"Allow me to rephrase this, sir." Her accent was back as was her badge, which she promptly shoved into the man's face. "AIS. This one is a suspect in a terrorism investigation and he is coming with me. Also, I quit."
The accent, the badge, and Taylor's cold had glare proved effective at unsettling the man who, until five seconds previously, had been her boss. He knew that this freelance that he had hired during the previous month had been holding back, but he didn't realize that she was a federal agent. And, looking at her, he decided that she was pretty dangerous without her badge. "Your last check will be in your account in the morning."
She applied a sugary-sweet smile. "Thank you for you cooperation."
Now that her biggest obstacle was out of the way, Taylor turned on her heel and forced Will out of the building.
As one might expect, the parking lot of the National Archives building was rather large. In fact, the National Archives building had its own parking garage. As was her practice, Taylor parked in the farthest, most remote corner of the parking garage to avoid people in general. The last thing that she needed was her cover being blown by a nosy co-worker.
She hustled Will into the passenger side seat, handcuffs and all. "If you make a wrong move, I will shoot you," she said. "And I really do not want to have to shoot you."
"You're still using that accent," he replied, resigning himself to the fact that the girl could, and would, kill him if he gave her reason.
Taylor said nothing more and concentrated on driving. This might have been a mistake. He's a bit more dangerous than I thought he might be. Luckily, he has an idea of exactly who he might have to reckon with.
Taylor drove out of the city and onto a long stretch of interstate. It was the middle of the night, so the road was practically deserted. Finally, she just pulled over and turned on her emergency blinkers.
"What are you doing?" Will asked.
"Something that's probably illegal," she replied, pushing a button on the dash. This time, she ensured that her accent was gone.
"Which is what?"
"Changing my license plate," she replied.
"How?"
"I rigged it to change with the push of a button."
"Why?"
"Cause there are people that are trying to kill me and I don't want to lead them straight to where I live."
"Who is trying to kill you?"
She looked at him sideways. "How does that concern you?"
"Well, if I'm with you, then I' a bit of a target and I want to know what I'm up against."
He had a valid point. "All I know is that it's a Genovesan that's trying to kill me. I don't know why. I don't know if they know that I'm a blood traitor or if someone has hired them to tie up loose ends or what. All I know is that my team and I are running for our lives."
He thought for a moment. "Did you ever conduct an operation where someone would have reason to kill you?"
"I could give you a list of more than a hundred."
"Well, that's not helpful."
"Yeah, there's a lot more than just guilt that comes with being an assassin."
He looked at her again. Genovesans, assassins, and all of their breed, none of them felt guilt. They only loved money. So why was this girl different? Why had she saved him when the extrication failed? Why had she kept him from getting caught inside the National Archives? Why did she want to help him? She wants out. The answer hit him quickly. She wants out and she thinks that you can help her. However, his mind concocted another alternative. She's looking for the rest of the Rangers. She'll use you to track them down. The less paranoid side decided to rebut that. That's not really Genovesan style. Usually, they'll follow the money and simply kill everyone. They won't actually go undercover or put themselves unnecessarily in the line of fire. The paranoid side had to have the last word. How many female Genovesans have you gone against or studied? The answer was none, but Will was developing a headache from the argument taking place inside his mind, so he discontinued it.
"So," he said, changing the subject. "How old are you, really?"
"Old enough."
"I'm pretty sure that's not a number." Had they actually been friends and he had not been handcuffed and if Taylor was not driving, that comment would have been accompanied by tickling.
She smiled slightly, just enough for the corners of her mouth to turn upwards. "I don't know how old I am. I could be fifteen or I could be eighteen. My best guess is that I'm sixteen or seventeen."
"How can you not know?"
"It's not relevant at the moment."
The license plate change was long done at this point, so Taylor pulled back onto the interstate, made a U-turn, and headed back towards the city.
"How many laws do you break on a regular basis?" Will asked her, finding it ironic that a federal agent would do such things.
"I kind of lost count," she replied, pushing the accelerator down further. By that point, she was obviously speeding.
They were reentering the city limits when Taylor spoke again. "So, how old are you?"
Will had decided that he would no longer be surprised by the girl's questions, nor by the girl in general. "I am seventeen years old."
The girl sitting next to him looked rather cynical. "Glad to hear it. It must be nice to be so certain."
"It is, really, when you think about it. Though it apparently is a luxury that some do not enjoy." He said the last part softly and gently, so that she would know that he was not making a joke about her.
She softened noticeably. "Thank you."
In route to her hideaway, the girl made so many turns and took so many evasive actions that even Will, trained as he was, lost track of where they were. He knew that it was on purpose. The girl was going to help him, but she didn't trust him. And she especially didn't want him to know where she was hiding, should he try to stab her in the back.
Taylor had chosen an apartment building that was exceptionally nondescript and looked just like the other apartment buildings surrounding it. Another precaution.
Taylor parked in the basement of the apartment building and pulled Will out of the car. "I'm going to take your handcuffs off now," she said. "If you try to run or incapacitate me, I will shoot you. Do you understand?"
"Yes. I'll behave. Now, please get these blasted things off of me. Besides that, I've been sitting back against handcuffed hands for the past hour. I haven't been able to feel my hands for most of that time."
Carefully, she unlocked the handcuffs and Will rubbed his wrists against his forearms, trying to restore circulation to his hands. "Thanks."
She nodded, maintaining a safe distance between the two of them. The feeling was mutual: they could benefit from each other, but they didn't trust each other.
Some unspoken communication passing between them, they both automatically headed for the stairs. Elevators are crowded deathtraps that usually have security cameras. Both the Ranger and the Genovesan had learned this lesson in their training. For Taylor, it had been one of the rules instilled in her from a very young age. It was basically the same principle for Will. Just as the Genovesans had a strict set of rules, his mentor, the man who had trained him, a man named Halt, also had a strict set of rules, one of which covered elevators.
Taylor had Will walk half a pace in front of her, not far away enough to look suspicious, but close enough so that she could handle anything that might come up. They entered the lobby and the receptionist nodded at her, saying hello without breaking conversation with the man checking in. She noted the incoming man's features, profiling him briefly, deemed him to not be a threat, and moved on. Will didn't seem to pay any attention to the man at all. Once again, they headed for the stairs, not a word passing between them. Will looked curious and was carefully examining his surroundings. Taylor looked determined, but a small smile graced her face as she watched Will. He was doing exactly what she would if she was in his position. Training for Rangers and Genovesans must not differ much.
Taylor's apartment was on the second floor, high enough up so that it was not accessible from the ground, but low enough so that she could jump out the window, if necessary, without taking any severe injuries. Unlike Marisi, she had an apartment with windows, but there was no clear line of sight to any of the other buildings and she had an exceptional view of the entrance to the building, to observe any potential danger that might come in through the front door.
Taylor let him in to the apartment, number 225, and closed the door. "No need to try to remember the room number. I switch it out with another room every day."
Smart. I'd hate to try to catch this girl.
Like Marisi's, Taylor's apartment was very unassuming. It could belong to anyone with a distinctly vintage and rustic taste in decorating. Her kitchen, the first thing that could be seen when one entered the apartment, was utilitarian, containing only a stove/oven, small fridge, a sink, and, of course, the ever present coffee pot. The living room held a comfortable leather couch, a cherry wood coffee table, and a flat screen TV along with a sizable collection of DVDs and CDs. Bookshelves overflowing with every kind of book imaginable lined the walls and there was a window seat with comfortable pillows and an end table that was obviously a favorite place for reading. Examining the windows, Will could see that Taylor had put some kind of tinting on them that would make it exceptionally difficult to see inside the apartment.
Taylor being who she was, there were weapons scattered all throughout the apartment. None of them, naturally, did she mention to Will. He could cause her enough trouble without knowing where all of her weapons were stashed.
"Bathroom's through there. You can crash in my room." She went to the kitchen to start cooking dinner.
Will glared at her, still not trusting her, particularly due to the fact that he was aware that all Genovesans had an exceptional knowledge of poisons.
"Do you not want anything to eat?" He continued to glare at her. "Alright, you cook and I'll taste whatever you choose."
Will nodded and traded places with her in the kitchen. Taylor grabbed her Mac and contented herself with time on the couch looking through schematics on the National Archives building.
A little while later, Will stuck his head around one of the cabinets. "Evanlyn?" he called.
"Yeah?" The girl looked up from her position on the couch. Truth be told, she had just been getting comfortable.
"Do you have any pasta?"
"Yeah."
"Where is it?"
"It's on the bottom shelf."
"I already looked there. There's nothing but a bunch of beans."
"Try the other bottom shelf."
"What other bottom shelf?"
Taylor sighed, closed her MacBook Pro, and unfolded herself from the curled-up position that she had assumed, tucking the computer under her arm as she stood up. Once in the kitchen, she deposited it on one of the granite countertops. "This bottom shelf," she said, opening the cabinet directly behind Will. To save him some trouble, she pulled out a box of pasta and handed it to him.
He glared at her suspiciously. To soothe his worries, she opened the box, randomly selected an uncooked noodle, and began chewing on it.
"Why is there a cabinet that only contains beans?"
"This is a general safe house set up by my team. In preparation for the fact that we might actually have to stay here, each team member was allowed to have a specific shelf stocked with whatever they wanted. Bacari likes beans. Marisi likes pasta. And I," she said, opening another cabinet, "like coffee." On Taylor's shelf were several bags of dark roasted coffee beans from Arridia, pouches of dried mangos, tea leaves, a jar of honey, and a couple of bags of sugar.
"You like coffee?" Will asked.
"Yes," the girl replied. She walked over to the coffee pot and opened it up. "Do you want some? I promise I'll try it first."
Will nodded. "Please."
Taylor took a coffee grinder out from under the sink and poured a generous amount of the beans into it, enough to make far more than two cups. She then poured the powder into the coffee pot and hesitated for a moment. "Do you like your coffee strong?"
"The stronger the better."
She nodded and started the pot. "Good. I've had people swear that mine is so strong that you could stand a spoon in it."
At that moment, Taylor figured that it would be a good time to try to glean information from Will with regards to the task lying before him, the one that she'd promised to help with. She hopped up onto the counter next to the stove. "So tell me what you're after." When Will looked at her questioningly, she continued. "If I'm going to help you, I need to know."
Halt's going to kill me. "I need information."
"You were attempting to break into the National Archives, I kind of had that part figured out. On what do you need information?"
I might as well dig my own grave. "The Ranger Corps."
"Why?"
"It was my assignment." At least Halt won't kill me for that one.
"Why do the Rangers want information on themselves?"
"I think they want to know just how much the government knows about them."
"You're not just after the Archives. You need to hack into some file or server. That information, or at least, some of it, is probably classified as being Top Secret at the very least."
Will didn't reply, but Taylor knew a little bit more about his plan now. "Alright. I've been looking at the schematics and, now that I have a decent idea of what we're after, I can plan accordingly." She unsheathed the six and a half inch black bladed knife that was concealed at her waist. Before Will could stop her, she popped it into the pasta, withdrew a noodle, flicked the noodle into the air, and caught it in her mouth, sucking the noodle up with a rewarding "pop" at the end. "Pasta's done. You might want to heat up some sauce as well. We can talk after we eat."
"You're probably right. This could take a while."
Taylor thought of all the hacking that could be involved to get what they needed and how badly things in this operation could go wrong. "Have you ever had to plan an Op by yourself?"
"Not alone, no."
"Then you have no idea."
He could see where this was going. While he was making the spaghetti sauce, another bean grinding might be in order.
"Can you make some more coffee?" Taylor asked. "We're going to need it."
A/N. Just for clarity, while we know Evanlyn as Taylor, Will has only met her as Evanlyn and she has not introduced herself otherwise. So, when I refer to Taylor in this chapter (and likely future chapters), please know that this is interchangeable with Evanlyn. Sorry if that's confusing.