Ray's early-morning message page to Claude's Sumo Wordman was short and explosive.
"You useless bastard! You totally messed up! My ass is on the line and you can't even kill a damned fly. I paid you good money to kill that witness and he ain't dead! And today he's gonna make a federal deposition: the real deal! He's being moved any second now from the Carson General Hospital up in Rockford. Get your ass over there quick. If he squeals, I squeal…"
It was hardly the wake-up call Claude was looking for. Cursing, he tossed the pager away and reached for his clothes, absent-mindedly dragging them on. He checked the time: six o'clock in the morning. And it seemed as if he didn't even have enough time for an early-morning Tarbrush Coffee: he had to move quick. Although he did take the time to down a cup of water and grab his Louisville Slugger, he shuffled into the elevator onto ground-level where he though temporarily about taking his Banshee: deciding better of it, he moved onto the street. Early-morning delivery trucks were making their rounds, which made them easy pickings for carjacking. He sprinted over to a nearby one, just as the driver unloaded a box onto the pavement.
With a hard pull, the passenger door opened with a click and the co-driver stared at him in shock. Claude wasted no time in yanking him out and dumping him on the ground. Slamming the door shut, he moved over to the driver's seat and hit the accelerator. In typically lucky fashion, the engine had been left on, and he pulled away down the street before any response could be uttered by either of the victims. A car theft file would go to the police, but they nearly always had their hands full with things considered more important in a crime-infested city.
Two blocks away, Claude slowed down to a friendly pace and calculated the quickest way to the Carson Hospital. But no matter what way he took, he would have to move fast.
He spat around the final corner a few minutes later, temporarily tipping onto two wheels, to see the ambulance pulling out of the carpark. But his bulky van had already built up a solid head of steam and he gave chase. He assumed the body was in the back, so ramming off the back doors was necessary. The ambulance was moving fast too: sirens blazing, it cleared out traffic in front of it which acted as both an advantage and a disadvantage to Claude. One, that with no traffic to dodge, he would have a clear shot at the ambulance rear. But he guessed that there had to be some sort of police patrol on alert after his previous murder attempt had failed, which meant mixing in among the traffic to temporarily dodge heat would be impossible.
Just as he mused over these two points, the ambulance slowed a little to avoid airtime down a slope and Claude decided to go for it. His truck was pushing the hundred-mile-an-hour barrier as he slammed into the back of the ambulance. Both back doors were crunched inwards, and as the ambulance careened over the slope, blew open and ended up on the road. The ambulance itself was driven forward by the impact and unable to control as its wheels hit the surface, wobbled before overturning and ended upside-down eating concrete on the edge of the pavement. The cast of the badly-injured cop rolled out from the now-exposed rear (no, don't take anything from it.)
Claude slowed his van to land safely unlike the ambulance, which it did with a thump, before speeding over to the cast. He figured that going directly over it would finish the job. He took a deep breath and accelerated with again. The wheels went directly over the corpse, producing a series of muffled crunches and for a temporary moment, Claude felt sick. Then, knowing that cop support would be arriving in a hurry, he scarpered to dump the van before finally getting himself some breakfast. He didn't think that he'd ever been up so early for anything outside of watching television for about five years.
The gang-war between the Cartel and the Yakuza was heating up. Even though it had been started just the previous day, there had already been shots exchanged between Yakuza and Cartel gang members on the street. Neither side had really made a major move…yet. Claude's destruction of a series of SPANK stands and his killing of King Courtney had temporarily slowed down Cartel drug-pushing operations, but with the Kappa Coffee House under new management, SPANK was still plentiful on the streets.
For Donald Love, he was expecting the gang war to drive down prices across the board on Staunton Island, but that would take a few days at least. Instead, he was turning his focus to a package of highly sensitive information that was to arrive on a plane from Washington in a few days. He had set a secretive mission involving a large number of infiltrators into the government's intelligence department, and the information they had acquired was worth millions: all they had to do was smuggle the package back to Liberty City, and from there, Love could extort payment in exchange for the destruction of the information.
But of course, things weren't going to be easy. The government had somehow been tipped off, and they had immediately alerted Liberty City officials and sent CIA agents over. Each arriving flight, private or not, was being checked thoroughly by airport officials. So Love was pulling a double-bluff: he deliberately had a leak-out that a plane would be dropping packages over Liberty City waters to a middleman, before landing. But instead, the plane would continue to fly into Liberty City, where it could be easily collected by airport officials, to be paid off when they made a discovery. It was now a matter of waiting.
It was a matter of waiting for Claude too. Unusually, no jobs came for him over the next few days: the first quiet period of lull he had for a while. He didn't mind this much: it was an excuse to mess around Liberty City, watch TV and play games on his newly-purchased Playstation 2. One of the games he played was rather ironic of his own current situation: about a man who had been stabbed in the back by a gang leader and was looking for revenge. He advanced through the storyline, eventually resulting in a dramatic car-chase finished off with the protagonist acquiring a SAM to blow a helicopter out of the sky.
But things weren't going to stay calm for too long. The Cartel had already placed and subsequently exploded several car-bombs in Yakuza territory, while Yakuza Stingers made constant forays into Fort Staunton, men drive-bying with Uzis and sometimes AK47s. The much nimbler Japanese sports cars were able to run circles around pursuing Cartel Cruisers. Something had to give: on one occasion, two large SWAT teams had been called in to control the situation and had suffered seventy percent casualties, but had eventually arrested all the men. SPANK was still selling on street corners like hot dogs, and they were being well-guarded by rifle-toting Cartel. Twice though, the Yakuza had sneaked snipers close enough to clean out a couple of Kappa Coffee Stands, but they hardly stemmed the flow. And the most important thing of all: that Catalina had readied death-squads in Shoreside Vale: her best men, wielding M16s, given orders to cut down Claude in a hail of fire if he was spotted. This made things very dangerous, but it was important for such a plan to be kept under wraps.
Over all of this, Flight A16399, containing Donald Love's important package, was ready for takeoff. Because it was a reasonably short flight and it would get to Liberty City in a few hours from its remote destination, Donald Love had time to order for Claude to head to Love Media for briefing. He caught a taxi and pulled up a couple of blocks away, then walked inside.
Love was sitting around his office drinking coffee and eyeing a couple of giggling, twittering young females waiting outside a nearby room, possibly for an audition. He acknowledged Claude with a wave and motioned for him to sit down.
"In these days of moral hypocrisy, certain valuable commodities can be hard to import. I have gotten my hands on some information which could generate great wealth, but I have to keep it out of the reach of the Feds. That is where you come in, my friend." Love said, as he moved over to a map of Liberty City.
"On its approach from the airport tonight, a light aircraft will pass over the bay. It will drop several inflatable packages into the water. Pick them up before anyone else does. I have already placed a speedboat-a Speeder model off the jetty on Portland Beach: take the map too. The plane will arrive in about two hours. You should watch out for any attention you might get from the man. When you get the packages, take them back here. You can keep the boat if you want, but it's your responsibility to make it inconscpicuous." Love said, as he pointed to a spot about half a kilometre off Portland Beach.
Claude couldn't help feeling just a little suspicious. The scenario felt like Love had made a deal with the police just like Salvatore had with the Cartel those few weeks ago. But then again, he probably wouldn't have told him of any police attention if that was the case. He exited the room, drove back to his apartment and grabbed the keys for his Yakuza Stinger.
He would have to be careful though. Crossing the Callahan Bridge would result in him ending up in Harwood, which was neighbouring St Marks: Mafia territory. He figured his plan would be to enter Harwood, then cross onto the beach by foot before retrieving the boat. With that, he decided his Yakuza Stinger was not worth risking, so he put the keys away, took his Uzi and some grenades and headed outside to flag for a taxi to drive him back into Portland: the first time since he had dealt with some Diablos for Kenji.
Although he did spot a few Mafia and had his gun ready to fire, they didn't recognise him and he was able to get onto the beach without trouble. There were still plenty of people on it: spring was in full swing and people were getting ready for summer. He walked along the sand, trying to keep sand from entering his shoes, and spotted several boats parked along the jetty: they ranged from normal sailboats to flashy imports such as the new Squallo IV and a couple of Jetmax racing boats: the absolute luxury of a boat-owner's collection. Luckily for him, there was only one Speeder docked as Love had said, so he clambered aboard, twisted the keys and roared off, leaving a geyser of water behind him.
Claude had plenty of time to wait it out and get into position and the boat's fuel tank was full, so he decided to take a cruise around Liberty. The water was murky and uninviting compared to the clean blue glass of Vice City, but it was still amazingly invigorating, having the wind blow through his hair as he sped along the waters. Sure, he experienced a similar effect when riding along in his Banshee, but this was still a wholly different experience. When there were about twenty minutes until Love's set deadline, he drove back to the position, reading the map as he did so.
Gazing into the distance, he soon made out a spot on the horizon. At first, its outline was like every other aeroplane, but as it drew closer, Claude spotted it out as a Beagle. It buzzed forwards toward Liberty City, and Claude watched in anticipation, waiting for the packages to drop. He looked around for any possible surveillance: Coast Guards or police Predators with those nasty machine guns. But as the Beagle approached and dropped its first package, Claude realised that he was a bit too far away. He sped the boat forward just as the first package hit the water with a splash, resurfacing a few seconds later.
Pulling up beside the package was going to be a difficult thing: he was hardly a boat-driving expert. So he took it slowly, letting the boat cruise alongside the package: wrapped, it looked about as large as a VCR. He reached for the package as the boat moved by, and just managed to grab it. Looking around, he noticed another package having been dropped up ahead. Turning the boat around, he moved towards it. But unknown to him, two police boats appeared from behind him, still a fair distance away but noticing the line of boxes that were floating in the water. Slowly, they began to move forwards…
Claude had an easier time getting the second package, piling it up on the first one. As he reached the third one, he was startled by the wailing of a siren behind him: The two police boats who had initially been on a normal patrol had given chase to him, and he realised that he had to move fast. By now, the Beagle had dropped all its cargo and was flying off towards Francis International Airport, where it would be recovered by airport officials: they were being paid off as the events were occurring.
Claude panicked a little when he rushed the boat almost past the fourth one, but he climbed onto the back to pick it out of the water. There was one more: he had to be quick, as he could sense that the police would call for further backup: almost certainly the Coast Guard, but maybe even a police Maverick or two sending rappelling special agents down. At this thought, he decided to get the package at speed: it was risky, but he would get a bit of a gap from the Predators which he was confident that he could outstrip.
Taking a deep breath, he hit the accelerator and pulled one hand over the edge. The Speeder gained velocity as the Predators drew closer. Two more Coast Guard boats were headed towards the scene. The package neared, and with a loud grunt, Claude managed to grasp the box in his fingers. But he had overcompensated in reaching over. Suddenly, he found himself off-balance and with two police boats behind him, ready to fire. His knee thumped into the side of the speedboat, and he tried to steady himself. Releasing one hand from the box, he used it to push himself back up as the boats drew within twenty metres of him, ready to fire their machine guns. Quickly dropping the box down, Claude pulled out an Uzi from his pocket and fired at both windows before slamming down the accelerator.
The front window of the Predator was bulletproof, but it didn't stop both boats from veering away temporarily, and that was the gap Claude needed. He could see the Coast Guard boats by now, forming a little blockade, but they didn't pack the heat: only the drivers would. So ducking down but keeping his foot on the accelerator, he jerked the steering wheel to the right. Taking quick peeks, he noticed his speedboat buzz past the Coast Guard at top speed, the lawmen firing their guns. As he kept his head down, he heard several bullets ping into the Speeder's polished framework, but he knew that he was past the danger bit. It was time for him to get back to Love Media before they had any land support ready.
He grounded the speedboat offshore on Staunton Island and snatched the piled-up boxes. There were two FBI Kurumas showing up at the scene, so he dropped the boxes and pulled out his grenades. Lighting one, he scored a direct hit underneath the one of the cars, sending the wreckage blown off sky-high. The second one bounced off the other Kuruma before exploding, failing to explode it but forcing it to roll over once before landing right-side up. The two FBI agents pulled themselves out, keeping the upper half of their body away from gunfire, but Claude disabled them by hitting both with shots on the lower body. As they rolled away, writhing in pain, Claude went back for the packages and took the FBI Kuruma.
With the FBI car now under control, he was able to avoid most of the heat that was being thrown around. But he had to be quick and get it to a Pay N' Spray for repainting, as it would be suspicious for a secret-agency car to be paraded around the streets. It was lucky that he chosen the right spot to land: the repair garage was nearby and he was able to have a new coat of shiny red paintwork applied, and the sirens removed before he could deliver the goods back to Love Media.
The task had been difficult, but Claude was expecting good payment for the trouble had had gone through, and plus he had a set of great new wheels: a regular-looking family car carrying the speed of a Stinger in the engine. What he heard next on the in-built radio was even more pleasing.
A newscast was broadcasting the latest news on the Staunton Lift Bridge: it was to be reopened tomorrow morning. Shoreside Vale was open: Catalina was in striking distance.
With the breaking of that news, a very happy Claude drove to Love Media to deliver the packages.
But the Cartel had their own men inside the LCPD, and they had been made aware of the actual location of the information.
It was time for two former lovers to cross paths again.