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Chapter Ten - "Escalation"
…
Some hell this day turned out to be.
One minute, Ethan was in an infil-op, charging pell-mell into a burning building. The next minute, he stumbled across a little girl whom the Special Activities Division condemned to the flames. He did what any normal person would do: brave the fires and risk his skin to save hers, only to get plugged in the chest for his troubles. A punishment for a good deed, delivered by a well-aimed rifle.
And his flying drone told him things were about to get worse. The bastard who shot him still had friends waiting outside of the burning house, guns drawn. The timing couldn't had been more impeccable. If the SAD really sent them to take him out, there's a good chance they had been expecting him to sneak into their safehouse this whole time. Did he have a tail when he drove here from Newark? Doubts about this mission's operational security suddenly were cast unto Ethan's mind. Whether it's true or not would be a problem for later, as right now he was a cornered fox, injured and winded. He briefly placed his pistol on the floor and applied pressure to his wound, for whatever good it would do. Though as he looked down his torso, he realized that he left a trail of blood near the broken window where he fell. Reddish splotches on a lacquered floor, lit up by the growing inferno around him.
He silenced his breathing, realizing he wasn't as well-hidden as he thought he was.
*SLAM!*
More bad news. He heard the gunmen finally kick down the door ahead, several meters from his ten o'clock. Sparse footsteps followed, like those of a hunter's, slow and steady. It was clear that the fire engulfing the farmhouse didn't deter them at all; they were eager to confirm their kill. Ethan spouted more curses under his breath as his heartbeat quickened. While tense, he tried his best to keep a clear head and anticipate their strategy. The UAV had already told him what to expect: two of the masked shooters would go in while the rest of their buddies would hang back outside, presumably planting sight lines all over the house from the south and east. It was a simple yet effective plan to box their prey in a tiny killzone. As if that was bad enough, the burning house itself presented yet another hazard for Ethan. If the tangos didn't kill him, the smoke and the fire most definitely would, unless he managed to escape.
This is really not good.
Holding his Glock close to his chest with one hand and Agnes with the other, Ethan huddled behind the table counter in the dining room, raring to move out and slip away once his assailants had passed him by. He could hear the creaking of their boots, but not a word left their mouths or their radios. The footsteps stopped just as they came across the wall separating the dining room from the kitchen. It took a lot of effort for him to remain quiet amidst the pain and choking fumes. He pictured it in his mind that they were near the hallway, expecting to find a body splayed across the floor.
There would be no time to relish in their disappointment. The gunmen were just a few feet away, behind the wall, about to stumble across the trail of red. The likelihood of a confrontation was quite a hair's breadth away. Ethan slowly moved northwards from his spot, crouching as he went, to circle around his assailants. He could see their silhouettes in the glowing fire: they had backpacks, sound-suppressed rifles, and snouts that imply their masks had built-in respirators on them. Clearly, they came better prepared than he was.
…
"Ajax. No PID on the body.", Ethan heard one of the shooters speak into their radio. "Target's still active and on the move, over."
No shit, Sherlock.
He was tempted to take them out on the spot, thin their numbers, but escape was a more pressing matter. He peered out of the dining room and into another hallway, where he saw a small crevice in one of the farmhouse's walls. It was half a meter-wide, just enough for his body to squeeze into. It would have to do, as the backdoor led to a deadly crossfire outside. He moved as silently as he could, praying that the crackling fire would muffle his shuffling feet. The tangos were still quite close - some fifteen feet away from his three o'clock. He aimed his sidearm at their direction while he inched closer to the crevice, ready to pull the trigger as a last resort. Mentally, though, he prayed that neither of the two assholes would turn their heads and see his shadow. Shooting them now would reveal his position to the other gunmen outside, inviting them to ventilate him and the little girl in his arms. Worse, the fire consuming the house was getting larger and larger, and he was ill-equipped to fight against the thick smoke. Even so, Ethan tried his best not to cough, not minding the fact that his balaclava provided very little protection from the noxious fumes.
To his dumb luck, the two shooters followed the blood trail as he hoped they would. One guy moved ahead while his partner watched the rear, looking away from where the Rainbow Operator's silhouette would be. It wouldn't be long until they figured out that their prey had already left the dining room, prompting them to call their friends in. Thus, Ethan resolved to slip away while he had a chance. Upon reaching the crevice, he crouched and carefully pushed Agnes's motionless body out of the gap. It was a painful experience, moving his limbs like he didn't have a chest wound, but Agnes's lithe form made the effort much easier. He grunted without a word, gritting his teeth behind his balaclava, hoping that the little girl would reach the grass outside. Soon he managed to get her body across, warranting a silent sigh of relief. Now, it was Ethan's turn to squeeze through the crevice, gently and silently.
It was a lot more painful than he expected, as the planks were snagging dangerously close to the bullet hole on his torso. Cursing in his head, he gently took out the crowbar strapped to his back and used it like a shoehorn for his body. He tried his damnedest not to make a noise…
…
*crack!*
But dumb luck struck again. Ethan overestimated the wall's strength. His crowbar pried one of the planks off too hard, falling into the lacquered floor with an audible crunch. It was loud enough for anyone inside the house to hear, even amidst the crackling blaze.
"Movement! On our six!", yelled one of the gunmen.
Heavy boot sounds soon followed, only this time they were frantic. They finally found him.
Goddammit!
Ethan raised his Glock and pointed it at the end of the hallway, anticipating their speedy arrival. As soon as the first tango popped out, Ethan pulled the trigger twice and planted two hollow points directly into his forehead. The guy fell down instantly, causing his partner to panic and back away, huddling into a nearby wall.
"Fuck! Man down! Man down!", he yelled as he started blind firing.
Bullets whizzed from a sound-suppressed SG 552 Commando. The obvious response was to shoot back, which Ethan did so as to keep the other guy's head down while he slinked through the crevice. No use going quiet now; his ears rang to the sound of a dozen or so bangs of 9mm fire. The suppressing fire seemed to work, as he managed to slip away from his pursuer, tumbling out of the burning farmhouse with a crunchy thud. In his haste he left his crowbar behind, abandoning it to the flames. Once outside of the smoke-filled farmhouse, Ethan coughed and took in the fresh air. Immediately after, he picked up Agnes from the grass and darted away. Fight-or-flight caused him to run with extra vigor, heedless of the pain on his chest, even as bullets snapped at his feet from behind. His blood was filled with adrenaline, just enough to carry him through this fight.
No rest for the weary. The once quiet countryside in the Midwest had become a little battlefield, with gunfire ringing all throughout. Ethan continued to run; his destination was nowhere in particular, so long as it was very far away from the bad guys. Then it dawned on him: he could lose them in the cornfields up ahead. There was a derelict combine harvester in there as well, as per his recon from earlier, which he could use as a vantage point or a temporary stronghold. For a moment, Ethan felt the scales slowly tipped to his favor, but this came crashing down when more bullets whizzed past his head. All of the gunmen had been alerted to his position at this point, and they laid down a copious volume of sound-suppressed gunfire to where they thought he was. They were quite close to hitting the mark, as the snaps in the air indicated that they were only missing their target by inches. He huffed and cursed all the way to the fields of yellow grain, with kicked up dirt and shot-off corn leaves left behind in his wake. He was not out of the woods yet.
Now what!?
Once in the middle of the field, he took a knee to check on Agnes. She was still unresponsive, but the weak pulse on her wrist said she was still alive, still on her drug-induced comatose. The bloodstains on her green medical gown had become messier, though they were due to his own chest wound than any injury from her frail body. For now, the little girl was stable. Ethan picked her up again and moved on, finally reaching the old harvester within a minute of leaving the smoldering farmhouse. Instinct told him to hide the little girl behind the hulking vehicle's cockpit; the old, rusty metal shell was still strong enough to shield her from stray shots. He laid her down with her torso slightly upright, giving her windpipe ample space to breathe well. At least she was one less concern for him to worry over, for the masked gunmen needed to be dispatched before he and the kid could get the hell out of here.
The shooting gradually halted, as the mask-wearing goons were presumably regrouping to find their sly target. Ethan wouldn't dare give them the satisfaction, and he still had a few tricks up his sleeve. Even with blood oozing from his chest, staining his hands, he pulled out his portable datapad to control the tri-rotor drone that he left hanging in the sky earlier. Craig and Meghan really saved his bacon by giving him this toy, as it was small and silent enough to remain hidden even in plain sight. Even with all the mayhem going on, the flying machine was still aloft, several dozen feet from the ground, and gathering vital intel that the Rainbow Operator could use. Looking into its camera feeds, he noticed that the seven-man group of hostiles were advancing towards his position in a staggered formation, from his four o'clock. Their guns were raised, fingers on the triggers. Engaging them head-on would be suicide, not with the LMGs that two of the assholes were carrying. He would need some divine intervention from above to compensate.
Then an epiphany came. The flying drone he was using had one, and only one, other gimmick that he could exploit. He could use it like his brothers did in Bolivia. A costly move, but a necessary one.
I guess there's no other way…
He had to risk it, as his measly nine-mil wouldn't be enough to kill the assassins coming for his head. A quick mag check only reinforced this belief, as Ethan found out his Glock only had fewer than ten bullets left. He would still be outgunned by a large margin even if he had reloaded his spare. If only he could return to his EBR, which he had left behind when he sprang into action earlier today, then he would have a slightly better chance in this fight. He needed to get back to it, back to his makeshift blind.
There was no time to apply first aid to his wound. After taking deep breaths, he crouched up and darted back to where he left his rifle, which he reckoned was only thirty or so meters away to his southwest. Abandoning stealth for speed, his feet trampled on broken cornstalks while he ran as fast as he could, consequently giving his position away a second time. The gunmen seized the opportunity when they heard the first crack, opening fire to where they thought he was. And once again, the bullets were dangerously close to hitting Ethan, as they were only landing several inches away from-
*splat*
Dumb luck struck a third time, as a rifle round took out a chunk of his left calf, causing him to stumble. The sudden rush of pain quickly left him as adrenaline continued to run its course, urging him to get up again before another bullet found a more vulnerable spot inside his body. More blood was shed, more energy expended, but he still kept going. He was almost there; his eyes pinpointed the freshly disturbed foliage where he popped out from just a few minutes ago. Indeed, the realization was enough for him to push his body harder and harder, despite the wounds. Little did he know that a few of his assailants had already entered the cornfields and were hot on his heels, finding the fresher trail of blood he just left behind. Quickly diving into cover, Ethan found his EBR where he had left it. He picked it up and racked the action to ensure it was still loaded. The hybrid optic was still intact and zeroed. Satisfied, he then turned around into a crouching position, ready to land a kill-shot on any poor fool he saw.
But his surroundings gave him scant information. Looking into the ACOG, both the foreground and the background showed zero movement; only the now-burnt down barn and smoldering farmhouse caught his attention. He could've sworn there were seven shooters after him, yet he could only see three of them out in the open. The rest, he deduced, were probably in the cornfields hunting him down. There was no time to think; these three tangos would have to do.
Now or never, Ethan.
Lowering his rifle for a moment, he pulled out his datapad again. This time, though, he did something else other than check the drone's camera feeds. There was a red button there reserved for the direst of circumstances. What he was about to do would throw a hundred grand into the wind, but it was a small price to pay to save his skin. He only needed to guide the tri-rotor close down, into the ground, just a few feet above the tangos' heads. And what better spot to land on than the cranium of one gunman, still clueless as to what was about to happen to them?
"Huh?", the drone's microphone picked up the unwitting tango's voice, who tilted his head up.
It was too late for him and his pals at this point.
"Lights out, fuckers.", Ethan grinned.
…
*BOOOOOOM!*
The ground quaked from the shockwave of the drone's Semtex payload. Ethan saw a couple of bodies sent flying in two directions, while the third one had become nothing more than a pinkish-smear on the grass. Served the bastards right to leave their rearguard hanging out in the open like that. No doubt the rest of them were startled by the blast, perhaps giving Ethan enough time to reposition to a better sniping spot, draw his pursuers in. He picked himself up and ran off, again trying his best to ignore the wounds in his body. He made it only several steps before another rain of muffled bullets rang off once more. The zipping and snapping in the air were very rapid, sounding like a wonky sewing machine. It would appear that the assassins were finally unloading their silenced machineguns on him as well.
This time, though, they were firing well away from his person, indicating that they were either shooting in the blind or laying down suppressing fire while they got to where they thought he was. Turned out it was the latter: as Ethan set his rifle down in a new position, he saw movement from a different side in the field. Listening to his instincts, he scoped into that direction, and happened upon the profile of one of the gunmen about to flank his previous spot. He was rushing with a suppressed Commando, using the tall foliage to mask his movement but to no avail. A closer inspection later, it seemed this guy was the same bastard Ethan traded shots with in the farmhouse from earlier. Well, it was time for him to go meet his partner, where tangos go to when they die.
*pht* *pht*
Two shots to the torso at a hundred meters or so, and he fell flat on his face. The silencer on Ethan's rifle masked his location, turning the tables to his favor.
That's four more guys down.
No time to celebrate just yet, as the shooting didn't seize. To the sniper's frustration, he had no muzzle flashes to guide him with, as the rows of cornstalks did well to hide the rest of the bad guys' silhouettes. Their dark uniforms were the only thing going against them, causing them to standout amidst a field of yellows and greens. But rather than sit down and pick them off one by one, Ethan opted to bound from cover to cover, keep his foes guessing as to where he was. True enough, another tango emerged from a corner of foliage, moving swiftly to take him down where he previously was. He appeared only for a second, but that was more than enough time for a patient shooter to retaliate with a pound of trigger-pressure.
Got ya!
*pht* *pht*
Two bullets again, this time from eighty meters. One in the chest, another in the neck, both were enough to put the masked shooter into the ground. Ethan resumed moving, refusing to savor another kill to his tally. Muffled gunfire continued to pour all throughout the cornfield, leaving behind broken leaves and shattered stalks along the way. The sniper huffed as he ran as fast as he could, realizing that his body was being pushed to the limit. He hid behind a fallen tree to catch a bit of a breather, while more shots were thrown his way, only several meters behind. He felt he was in a better sniping spot, as the tree was still between the rows of grain stalks, but with enough cover to mask his own profile. He held his breath to steady his aim and scoped into the EBR again. The tangos were still shooting him, and missing, but he could not see any movement from them either.
Something didn't feel right.
*snap*
"Shit!", he yelped. Ethan heard it on his right.
He instinctively ducked down, as he heard a zip of air on his three o'clock. Another bullet had just missed his noggin by a good inch, and he reciprocated by unloading a half-dozen rounds to where it came from, using the ACOG's top-mounted backup reflex sight as a guide. He heard a pained grunt and a grassy thud, indicating another fallen body. The gunmen had laid a trap on him that he barely got out from. Ethan thought he was in the clear; he didn't realize that the last of these guys was sprinting towards him while he was catching his breath. Before he could react accordingly, a burly man with a dark ballistic mask was quickly set upon him. This man was but a stone's throw away, holding a Steyr AUG that was bearing down for an up close and personal kill-shot. Ethan cursed as he pulled the trigger on his gun, letting off a couple of shots. The first bullet grazed his opponent's shoulder, causing him to drop his bullpup rifle into the ground. The second one didn't come out at all - his EBR's magazine was empty.
Oh fuck!
He reached for the spent Glock on his hip holster. But before his gloves touched the strap, the last gunman lunged at him with two hands, knocking him back. It happened so fast.
A vice-like grip wrapped around Ethan's neck while he got pinned down, turning this battle literally up face to face, hand-to-hand. He grunted and gnashed his teeth as he tried to wiggle free and fight back, though this didn't deter his assailant in the slightest. Then he heard a knife being unsheathed. He couldn't rightfully see the bastard's hands, but the sound of steel sliding out sent chills up his spine. Using whatever strength he could still muster, Ethan pushed the guy off, then rolled to the side. Again, he reached out a hand to grab his Glock, moving quickly while he recovered from his maneuver. This time, he managed to get the handgun free from its holster. He quickly pointed it at the knife-wielding attacker; his finger was literally a heartbeat away from pulling the trigger…
*thwack!*
…Only for the sidearm to be smacked aside with a backhand.
"Your ass is mine, bitch!", the masked man yelled, tackling his prey for a second time. He was clearly well-trained.
Flat on his back once again, Ethan grimaced in pain as he saw the knife lunge straight into his unprotected belly. And just as before, he pulled another trick up his sleeve, kneeing the other guy in the gut as he went for the killing blow. The counter-attack connected well and caused the mask-wearing goon to lose the grip on his knife, sending it clanking away into the foliage. Both men were now unarmed, so they turned to their fists and limbs. However, Ethan knew right then he wouldn't last long because of his wounds. A punch and a kick later, he was flat on his back for the third time, two hands once again wrapped around his neck. His opponent also had a good sense to dig into bullet hole on his torso, causing Ethan to scream in pain, more blood spurting out. Delirious, but not yet defeated, he frantically looked around for anything else he could use as a weapon. A rock, a sharp branch, a handful of dirt. He had nothing else in his gear save for his rifle mags, lockpick, and that adrenaline shot that he was saving for Emily…
That's it!
He had no other recourse left. He reached a hand into his chest rig and pulled out the syringe. Taking the cap off by snagging it in one of the straps, he knew he had only one chance.
"RAAAAGH!"
Ethan roared as he jammed the needle into the other guys throat from below, who let out a surprised gasp. The adrenaline flooded the guy's veins and quickly went to work, accelerating his heart without warning. As he struggled to take the syringe off, Ethan violently drove it deeper into his flesh, burying it further by a good inch. His attacker rolled to the side as the substance took effect, prompting Ethan to also roll on top of him and deliver a precise flurry of attacks. Gritting his teeth like a barbarian, he used his right hand to punch the syringe into the burly guy's flesh, burying it deeper. One punch was followed by another. And another. And another, until the instrument reddened with blood. Each hit was joined by a pained grunt from the wounded man, but Ethan didn't relent. He punched again and again, driving the needle deeper into his enemy's throat until the latter's blood-filled gurgles ceased. Arms and legs that were once eager to claim his life soon drifted and waned. A few seconds later, they went still.
*huff* *huff* *huff*
The fighting's done, with the victor towering over the fallen enemy with momentary pride. He was tempted to pick up the AUG from the ground and plant a couple of bullets into the body, but his mind reined him in. It was over.
Ethan finally had a few seconds to himself, which he used to inspect the now-deceased assailant. The guy was definitely kitted out like a pro: a Micro Fight vest, TACO MOLLE pouches, and load-bearing harnesses on flame retardant clothing. Yet there were no markings or insignias to speak of, nor were there any IDs or names on his cash-laden wallet. However, the ballistic mask this bastard was wearing definitely hinted at something the Special Activities Division would issue. As vicious he might have been, he was now nothing more than fresh fertilizer, splayed on top of the bloodstained soil. Ethan wanted to see the bastard's face, tear off his mask, but weakness started to overcome him. He didn't realize that he was struggling to stay upright the whole time, what with the injuries and the spent energy. His legs soon buckled in pain, causing him to stumble. The fight-or-flight moment had ended and now his body was paying the price for the victory. Flat on the ground and trying to catch his breath, he removed his balaclava to help his nostrils work better. He planted a hand at his wounded chest, reeling from even worse pain. The bloodstains only hammered home how lucky he was. He was weary and battered, but alive. That was a lot more to be said compared to the corpse beside him.
It was really over. Pity that his body had to go through a gauntlet of pain to get to this moment. He badly needed morphine and a roll of bandages, or just a bottle of whiskey for the pain. Or he could close his eyes and rest for a while. That one seemed easier…
…
…
"Ajax?"
Ethan snapped awake, hearing a garbled radio suddenly activate. The sound came from the masked goon's headset. Grimacing in pain, he stood up with all his strength and went over the corpse again.
"Ajax, this is Odysseus. What's your status, over?"
It was a male voice, deep and clearly modulated. Curiosity overcame Ethan as he wrested the device from the dead body. It was curiosity, albeit mixed with rage. He wanted to know who sent those guys to kill him today. He wanted to know how they found out about his arrival, and about his mission here in Iowa. Right now, talking to this fucker was his only chance for answers. But then, he surmised answers didn't matter in the end. Whoever these masked killers were, they had failed spectacularly.
"Ajax, come in. This is Odysseus. Report mission status, over…"
Ethan placed the radio's mouthpiece close to his lips. In a rare moment where he let his emotions rule his mind, he felt the urge to gloat.
"…Ajax, are you there?"
"He's KIA."
…
…
Caleb froze. He expected a deep, brutish voice to speak back, not one from a man who shouldn't to be alive at this point.
Sitting inside his black van, he wallowed in dumbstruck-idleness, trying to process what he just heard. There was no way in hell Ethan Mallory could take on eight highly-trained shooters by himself. Ajax had every advantage: numbers, weapons, and the element of surprise. Yet, someone else was using his radio. Taunting. A bubbling anger started to form, nudging Caleb to grip the steering wheel with a tighter hand. With rage came irrationality, as he slammed a fist above the dashboard and cracked the glass. He chastised himself for letting this happen. 'Ethan Mallory'. He should've killed that fucker yesterday in Newark, when he had the chance.
With his blood about to boil over, the bald man took off the headset then tossed it to floor in a fit. Then he switched off the radio transceiver beside him, as a precaution in case Mallory was tapping into it, tracking him down. Next, he turned the ignition key and lifted the handbrake, as he steered his vehicle out of the parking lot. The checklist on his head told him what to do next: leave New Jersey and get the word out. The Bossman had to be told as well, assuming he wasn't busy keeping up appearances in his cushy desk in Japan. Caleb drove the van off the roadside and back to the main highway. Up ahead, he saw a sign leading him to the I-80.
The situation had changed as he had feared. There was now a Rainbow Operator somewhere in Iowa, still breathing. He took out his smartphone from his jacket's breast pocket.
…
"Bossman."
"Caleb?", Treadway replied with an annoyed tone. "Aren't you early for your next radio check?"
"We got a situation, sir. Mallory is still alive. He took out Ajax and his team."
…
…
The guy hung up on him.
Yeah, fuck you too.
Ethan tossed the headset aside. Whatever he thought he'd win by gloating at his foe suddenly felt meaningless, as his body ached even more. He was banged up pretty good, his clothes were drenched in sweat, dirt, and blood. His victory was hard-fought and sloppy, yet still worth a pat to the back. As for the radio, he wondered if he should've just shut his goddamn mouth rather be swept away in the moment. Though credit where credit was due, as he just survived an ambush by himself and turn the tables. His mission was a nominal success: he didn't find Emily, yet he found someone just as important. At least that was his hope.
"…Agnes!"
He just remembered someone he needed to check on, now that shooting had died down for good. Wasting no more time, he picked up his rifle on the ground and also searched for his Glock. He grimaced each time he moved, as the spark of new life and purpose made him painfully aware of his wounds once again. Not that it mattered, as he felt he had seen the worst of what today could throw at him. Putting his balaclava back on, he proceeded to limp his way back to Agnes, as fast as his strength allowed him to. On the way, he had ample opportunity to survey the smoking aftermath of this afternoon's little battle. Two burned down buildings flanked by cornfields, with bodies strewn about and spent shell casings littering the ground. A once-picturesque view of a rural Iowa was now ruined – a gruesome sight to behold for nobody but the coroners. Things really went to shit when the SAD rigged the farmhouse, but one could argue the stakes were stacked against Ethan from the very start.
After a couple minutes' worth of painful trekking, he reached the rusty vehicle in the middle of the field, as dormant as he had left it earlier. Paternal instincts kicked in the moment he saw Agnes's motionless form inside the cockpit, fearing that she finally succumbed to whatever crap the SAD injected her with. He couldn't help but panic, as though it was his own daughter who was suffering. Today still felt surreal. He expected to find Emily in the safehouse. A traitor, not a damn ten-year-old.
"Come on kid, wake up!", he lightly patted her cheek.
No response again. A quick feel on her pulse told him she was still breathing, albeit weakly. Worry filled his mind as he scooped her up in his arms, pain wracking his body along the way. He needed to get her out of here as soon as he could, preferably more than a good distance from this godforsaken place. He needed to return to his Rover, which he prayed was still where he parked it half a klick away to the south. But first things first. The guys in Greece needed to be told about what happened here. 'Shit hit the fan' would be a monumental understatement. The intel that Rainbow gave him had been quite faulty, seeing that armed tangos had set an ambush for him when he arrived to his destination. And so, Ethan crouched again, taking out the smartphone that Harry gave him. He prayed that this thing really had a secure channel, otherwise the SAD's goons would be hot on his tail once again.
The phone rang for seconds. Nobody answered. The silence only made him even more anxious.
"Ah dammit, Meg. Pick up. Don't leave me hanging here…"
…
University of California
San Francisco Medical Center
…
Erin had been fumbling with her laptop for a while now. She didn't sleep well last night, not after having a fresh stitch across her forehead and fresh bandages in other places. The medicine that the doctor gave yesterday had a rather muted effect on her body, making her numb rather than drowsy. She didn't care about rest, actually. She figured she already did a lot of that when she was knocked out cold after the bombing. After Justin was taken from her. Out of all the things she'd rather lose in his stead, her 12-inch company-issued personal computer was the only thing that got away with just a few scratches.
She hated herself. If this was the only silver lining Erin would ever get, then she'd rather just die. The thoughts of just ending it all lingered in her mind, even as her eyes scanned left to right, sifting through the numbers on her computer screen. She struggled not to think about that terrible night, as it would only crush her heart. While her fingers pressed on the keys, a single tear trailed down from her right eye, which she quickly brushed away. She needed to be distracted, and there was no better way than to engross herself with financial data, graphs, and predictive analyses from Prestige National Bank's main office. They occupied her time before that fateful night; it wouldn't hurt to engross herself into them again. She would rather work than rest. She could sleep all she wanted when she's dead.
*knock knock*
The door to her hospital room creaked open. A blonde woman with eyeglasses and a long braid popped her head out of the door.
"Erin? I… I got you breakfast.", Abigail Frye called to her friend with a weak smile.
The brown-skinned woman on the bed looked back with weary eyes, but she returned the gesture with a slight upturn of her lips. She immediately went back to her laptop while her friend placed a white plastic bag on the end table. Soon, the room filled with the aroma of freshly-cooked hamburger and hot matcha tea. Enough to make most people's stomachs grumble, but not Erin's. Her room still reeked with antiseptics.
"I know you're no fan of the Double Cheese, but I can't find a Veggie Delight either, so…", Abby tried to cheer her up, then sat on the chair beside her.
"It's… no big deal. Thank you."
Abby took out a serving from the bag, but it lifted neither her spirit nor her friend's. There was still a dreary tone in their voices, much as how much they would like to ignore it. This week had not been kind to both of them. But while living through a terrorist attack was harrowing enough for any sane person, tragedy actually struck at Erin's life twice in quick succession. She had been blocking the bad news in her head ever since she heard it, lest she become so overwhelmed with grief.
"Still no word from the police?", she asked, bravely holding back her tears.
"Hmm?"
"About… Lyle and Maya."
Lyle Harkin and Maya Tanabe. One was Erin's immediate superior at Prestige National Bank, the other was another of her close friends and co-workers. The two of them had been missing for days now, with virtually no clues or trails for anyone to follow save for sketchy eyewitness accounts. Erin turned at Abby, eager to hear a more sensible explanation from her, but she only bit her lip and looked away. She too was trying her very best not to weep.
"*sigh* Still nothing. You'd think a Missing Persons case would get a lot of buzz, but…", she trailed off. "…They still couldn't find Lyle's car. And Maya was with him that night, so maybe…"
Whatever her friend was trying to imply, it flew over Erin's head as she continued to type into the laptop. She didn't want to tell her that she stopped listening after she said 'nothing'. Not out of boredom, but out of a sheer desire to shield herself from reality, to deny everything bad that had been happening so far. Even for a moment, she'd rather be someone else, someone other than a victim. The yearning for death grew stronger, the more she dwelled on the thought. If her body was strong enough, she probably would've jumped out of the window right now. Once more, she resisted the urge for the ultimate release.
Erin didn't bring up Lyle for no reason, though. The graphs and charts she was looking at on her laptop were, for the most part, due to him. She brought up to him the clues about Ithaca's impending hostile takeover of Holdstadt AG. The latter sank a lot of money to that expensive building project in Aarhus, only to have it bombed by fanatical eco-terrorists. Erin told Lyle that Prestige National should cut ties with the former while they had the chance, for fear of being dragged into some monumental clusterfuck in the future. And lo and behold, the latest number crunching proved just that: Ithaca's shares had ballooned tenfold now that it had gained a foothold in the Russian market. More construction projects, more profits. More profits also meant more risks: something that neither the Bank nor anyone else with a moral compass would be keen to take into account. At this point, the powers seemed to went all-in with Ithaca's shares. They were becoming reckless, playing loose with the money that guaranteed profits and insane risks.
Why? Why the hell would the Board agree to this?
Clearly, some of the suits were still confident in the construction market, both here and elsewhere. Erin closed one spreadsheet and opened up another, presenting her with financial data of the many shareholders in Ithaca. They seemed to be doing fine. Senator Patricia Darcy, for instance, had just divested more money to this construction firm shortly after its foray into Europe. Rather greedy for a woman of her stature, but not really illegal either. Her name was joined by others belonging to other bigwigs in Capitol Hill, as though they were already planning for the next election. Perhaps Darcy opened a trust fund for Erin as a political move as well, not just a gesture of genuine sympathy. The timing was curious, though, seeing that the old lady had shown to be a lot more financially-savvy than she appeared to be, thanks to current events.
Nosiness was starting to get the better of Erin, unbeknownst to her. The numbness in her body slowly faded from her mind, slowly bringing a faint spark of life in her wounded heart. She wished to become anything other than a victim, and she did just that. She was back to being Erin Reyes-Cosgrove, Senior Analyst of Prestige National Bank, however fleeting that sense of purpose might be.
"You sure you should be working? The doctor said you still need to rest.", Abby asked while she was chewing on a mouthful of food.
Naturally, her friend ignored her.
"It doesn't make sense.", Erin rambled to herself. "I thought the Board was scared to lose its stake on Holdstadt after the Spire Bombing. But now…?"
Ignoring Abby's anxious gaze, the brown-skinned woman continued tapping keys in order to save the spreadsheets, both in her computer's hard drive and into cloud storage.
"…I-I need to get back to the office soon. There has to be someone from Legal who can explain this to me! *sigh* …Justmydamnfuckingluck."
She then reached a hand for the other end table, where her smartphone was sitting idly by. The device was only a few inches beyond her grasp, causing Erin to nudge her fragile body from the bed just a little bit further. She greatly overestimated her condition. When she leaned out a few notches more, she felt her arm suddenly tighten itself. She yelped at the sudden pain, only to feel the same thing happen on her bandaged forehead. The stitch had opened because of her exertions; the appearance of reddish blot only confirmed it. Seeing fresh blood starting to pool on the white patches of cloth, Abby gasped and hurriedly stood up to lend her friend a hand.
"Dammit Erin! Are you trying to hurt yourself!?", she chastised her, placing a palm on the shoulders and nudging her body back to bed. Much as the latter appreciated the concern, however, her headstrong nature ultimately prevailed.
"Listen. I need to finish what I started with Lyle."
"But he's not here isn't he!? You're pushing yourself too hard!"
Erin clenched a fist and slammed the side of her bed.
"PLEASE! This… This is all I have left, Abby…"
"…"
"*sniffles* …Please."
She lowered her guard at that moment. The tears she had been holding back now flowed freely, crushing her heart even more. The laptop, the graphs… they were nothing compared to the family she had lost. The chance of a happy future she was planning with Justin… perhaps she shouldn't have argued with him that night. About having a baby. Perhaps she should've just said yes and agreed to visit that clinic in DC. Perhaps then, her husband would've had left Darcy's front door in a huff, towards the damn delivery van carrying the bomb meant for the Senator. Erin would give anything to turn back the clock, but reality didn't work that way.
Abby felt her pain, hugging her close, weeping with her. The two friends held each other for a few minutes…
…
"*sniffles* I need to go to the bathroom.", Erin blurted out, her voice slightly breaking. "Give me a lift, will you?"
The blonde woman nodded and gently hoisted her up by her shoulder. The door to the toilet was only a few steps away from the bed.
Every painful step was a small price to pay to have a bit more dignity in private. At least for now, taking her own life was out of her mind, at least for as long as she had something else to set upon. If not to fulfill her responsibility as a Senior Analyst, then at least she should fulfill her duty to live on, for the sake of her husband. For the child that would never be born for them. The time to grieve would have to come later.
Erin continued to crunch numbers in her head, even while she did her business inside the small, sterile room. For the last time, she wiped away whatever tears she had left on her reddened eyes. By her reckoning, the rise of Ithaca definitely showed signs of insider trading, which her Bank was more or less also culpable for. Perhaps that was the reason why Lyle stonewalled her, which would make sense for a brownnose like him. That being said, the data that Erin had on her laptop would be nothing more than conjecture if she didn't corroborate it with the Treasury Department. Maybe she could hook up with one of her contacts in DC, or with her stockbroker friends in Downtown, to get their perspective on Ithaca's latest ventures in Europe. Worst case scenario? The Bank where spent five years of her professional life would be taken to court for deliberately bankrolling corporate espionage in foreign soil. Now that would be a first for the global construction industry.
*toilet flushing*
Erin washed her hands and face, then turned her eyes to the door.
"Abby?"
…
…
There was no response.
"Abby?", she called out again, receiving silence in reply.
Erin frowned. Feeling a wee bit annoyed, she stood up with shaky legs and stormed out of the bathroom with a scowl on her face. The brief burst of energy had invigorated her drug-addled bones, helping her twist the door knob with more furor. Her friend was probably enjoying her damn cheeseburger a bit too much.
"Oh for God's sake, Abby! You're gonna leave me hanging for that- *gasp*"
A glove suddenly covered her mouth, muffling her scream of surprise. Another arm went across her chest, pulling her body away from the door with brutish force. To Erin's horror, her friend Abby was nowhere to be found in the room. Instead there were two men with stern faces, wearing suits. Erin struggled and flailed her arms, but to no avail.
Then she felt a sharp needle pierce her neck. Her eyes rolled back.
…
Interstate-80, Westbound
Twenty minutes later
…
The tracker on Caleb's dashboard was chiming loudly to get his attention. The gas station was only half a klick away. Time was not necessarily scarce, but he wasn't taking any chances either. He wanted to get to that damn place as soon as possible, get the ball rolling, before some interloper started fucking things up again. So, he drove his van just a hair short of the I-80's speed limit, reaching his destination a few seconds sooner than anyone on a casual road trip. He drove past the gas pumps and went straight to the storage shack, around the convenience store. The Bossman assured him there were no guards posted there at this time.
He hopped out as soon as he parked the van, taking the tracker with him. The storage shack was rather old and unassuming, easily opened by a key dangling from his belt. Inside the dark room were rows upon rows of shelves, each of which containing various merchandise of all stripes. As he went inside, the tracker progressively grew louder for every step he took, until a particular green duffel bag caught Caleb's eye. The tracker went nuts close to it; he knew he had the right item. He grabbed it with no second thought. Before he returned to the van, he briefly checked his vicinity for any errant onlookers, then unzipped the bag to double-check its contents. There were stacks of cash stored inside, in denominations of a hundred each, plus a box of burner phones fresh off the boat. A couple million dollars and an entire set of disposable comms equipment, all courtesy of the CIA's Special Activities Division.
"Bossman. I found the cache.", he spoke to his earpiece. "Package's still intact and secured."
"Good. I've already sent word to our guys in Pittsburgh.", Treadway replied. "Take the money to them and they'll do the rest."
"Roger that."
Caleb returned to the van and tossed the green bag to the back, then returned to the driver's seat. Any other man would've been tempted to run away with a motherlode of money, but the former Marine knew his place. The only thing that mattered to him now was the chance for payback. He just lost a veteran crew today, as though Rainbow's previous transgressions weren't bad enough. As to what to do next, he only hoped the old man would be on the same page as he was.
"Do you know what happened to the kid?", Treadway asked.
"Probably dead. Ajax didn't report Mallory carrying her out…", Caleb spoke plainly. "…Although he could've gotten something else from that safehouse before it burned down."
"Doubtful. We instructed the SAD to be thorough in their cleanup."
"Heh, sure…"
Right then and there, the subordinate made his displeasure known. He wanted to tell Treadway that he placed too much faith on those fools in Langley, assuming he could manipulate their orders forever without repercussions. He also placed too much faith on Ajax and his crew, thinking that numbers would be enough to kill a single Rainbow operative. The real solution for the latter would've been to use the one right tool for the job, like a sniper rifle to plant a hole into the bastard's forehead when he landed in Newark Airport yesterday. It didn't matter if it would've been a public spectacle; Treadway's underlings would've spun up a bullshit story to tell to the press. Alas, none of this happened, and a supposedly straightforward assassination job became a goddamn bloodbath instead. The thought lingered on as Caleb drove his van out of the gas station and back to the highway, with a new package stowed in the back. He had half a mind to tell his boss what he really felt, but he still kept his composure.
"…What now?"
"We keep everything on a tighter loop. Get in touch with our man in Moscow, tell him that Phase Seven is gonna have to happen ahead of schedule."
Treadway spoke as though he wasn't too bothered by Ajax's loss, along with seven good soldiers.
"Moscow? Aren't you worried about a Rainbow agent on the loose here?"
"The SAD will take care of him; I'll have Homeland see to it. Just as soon as our friend in San Francisco is done with her mission."
Treadway was referring to that other job to silence an analyst for Prestige National Bank, a nosy woman who had been looking into bank accounts that she shouldn't have. At least that was one less loose end soon to be dealt with, perhaps a cleaner job than what they had to do to Agnes Kipper. For all the old man's slipups, Caleb still admired his tenacity. He didn't care if he had to kill a mere child to cover his tracks. Damn shame he had to jump through a lot of hoops just to nab her from federal custody and make a spectacle out of her death. Perhaps he wanted it to make it look like an accident. Perhaps he didn't have enough time to plan, and he had to make do what he had.
Either way, this was a lot of effort for Zero Protocol. Still a bit hard to believe that the blood they'd shed so far was for a piece of paper.
"You don't seem pleased."
"At this rate, old man…", Caleb went on. "…we're gonna have an escalation with Team Rainbow, sooner than later."
"As long as they stay away from the Fehmarn Base, we'll be fine. We have other bread crumbs to feed them with…"
The bald man groaned in his head. His boss really loved throwing his "allies" under the bus once Rainbow's onto them. First the militant hippies of Earth's Hope, then Rojas and his Reds in the Amazon. Now, the damn pirates in the Indies were in the chopping block, even after they had proven themselves useful as couriers for the cause.
But the point still stood. They were now nearing the culmination of everything that had been done so far. Years of planning and execution, dozens of lives lost, thousands of lives claimed. The alliances, the political machinations, and the hijinks in buying out businesses. In a few weeks, the world would wake up to a different status quo, to a sweeping change that started in Freedom Day. Team Rainbow, that motley band of fools acting like superheroes, would be none the wiser, thinking that they could save the day again, only to find themselves with crosshairs painted on their backs. As for Caleb, he was only concerned about the kill-list in his head. Treadway promised him satisfaction after all. Hopefully the bigger picture wouldn't get in the way.
"…Although, what happened in Iowa proves we need to speed things up a little."
"Just a little? What about the safehouse, Bossman?", Caleb rebutted. "I think we missed a leak."
It was a reasonable question. Only a handful of people knew about where Emily Jacobsen was taken to, after the shit she tried to pull in London. The CIA black site in Dickinson County was meant to be her prison, but plans changed and… she became bug food instead. Now, the place had become a holding pen for Agnes Kipper. Regardless of what anyone knew, if it was Emily or Agnes who was left to rot in that shithole, the black site's location was closely-guarded secret. Or, at least it should've been, if Treadway did miss a name or two. Caleb listened on, as his superior paused for a few seconds on the line, seemingly deep in thought. He was a bit startled when he heared him chuckle into the phone not long afterwards.
"It's Aurelia. Has to be.", Treadway replied.
Aurealia Arnot, State Department attaché and former Director of Team Rainbow. Not a surprise that she got her paws on sensitive info known only to the CIA at the time. She already had a bullseye on her head as far as Caleb was concerned.
"So what are we waitin' for?"
"Don't act brashly, my boy. The President's keeping her close in DC. Focus on the task at hand."
Caleb squeezed the steering wheel tighter, feeling his anger about to boil again. Out of courtesy to the older man, though, he relented a second time and took a deep breath. At the very least, Treadway should appreciate the sacrifice.
"Yes sir."
"You'll get your chance, I promise you that. Once you're done with the delivery, we'll talk again."
"…"
"Is everything clear, Caleb?"
"Whatever you say, Bossman. Out."
*click*
This whole day had tested his patience, though at the very least the operation was still in full swing, despite the setbacks. Silver linings and all that. Caleb kept his eyes glued to the road while he let his anger simmer down. He still had ways to go until he reached his next destination, perhaps one more in a series of many, according to the itinerary the old man had prepared. He reminded himself to play his part, to count on Treadway's promise to him of a well-deserved reprieve, if he could only hld on a little longer. Needless to say, temptations rang strong. He was still driving across the I-80, the highway that could lead him to either one of two goals presented to him. He could be a good boy and run another errand for Treadway, or he could go out of his way to hunt Ethan Mallory down himself.
He gritted his teeth, realizing his choice was perfectly clear. He took out his phone again and dialed a different number.
…
"Yeah?", a male voice greeted him.
"Orson?"
"Ey, mate! Doin' alright? Been a while since I heard from ya."
Caleb didn't have time for small talk. Nonetheless, he noted Orson Rose's well wishing, a welcome change of pace. Strangely, the feeling was a rather mutual, from one professional to another. It was a fleeting moment, however.
"Timetable has moved.", he informed his British counterpart. "You still in Moscow?"
"Right ya are. The construction crews are making a lot 'o progress here."
"Good. Greenlight on Phase Seven, then stay there. We need Rainbow to come for you."
Orson laughed on the phone. It was as though he too had also found something to look forward to, at long last. He would only be fulfilling his end of the contract; either way was a win.
"Like sheep to the slaughter, yeah? I suppose now's as good a time as any."
…
The Stadium
Elis, Greece
…
Some chore this day turned out to be. Still, could've been worse.
"~Marie douceur, c'est ainsi que tu me surnommes. *tap* *tap *tap* Tu crois bien sûr me connaître mieux que personne…"
Emma's earpiece was playing one of her favorite retro-songs as she went up a staircase in the Stadium. She was humming the tunes and tapping her finger on her smartphone like a drum, while she reviewed technical data on the handheld device. Sifting from page to page, she juggled equations in her head while she reviewed at schematics and graphs. It seemed that Harry wanted Rainbow's R&D people to bring more toys into play, for the Program's future "sessions". Out of all the pages Emma was reading through, only one of them really piqued her interest: the cross-section of a prototype defense system, patented by Miss Jaimini Shah of Nighthaven. A sample unit had just been delivered to the Lab downstairs.
More lasers. Huh.
One glace at the blueprints was all it took for her genius brain to immediately start working wonders. She envisioned a laser grid and alarm module working in tandem with each other, all packed into a nifty package no bigger than a football. To see it become a reality would mean striking a balance between power draw and output, but that's a problem she would love to deal with later.
Right now, though, she was looking for Gustave, to return him the ointment he lent her earlier for the bruises she got during the Sim-Suit demonstration. They still stung like heck, no thanks to Taina's impeccable pistol work, but at least the Frenchwoman could finally wear a shirt on without it rubbing painfully against her chest. So up the staircase and into another hallway she went, her destination on the Stadium's third floor was only a few meters away. Docteur Kateb was supposed to be in the Operations Room right now, presumably discussing improved safety procedures for the sims with Harry. Emma could already hear the former's voice coming out of the door, speaking in a rather serious tone. Intrigued, she switched off the wireless device on her ear to understand him better.
"…because her breathing is irregular.", he seemed to go on, his accent unmistakable as ever. "I strongly recommend you take her to a hospital, right now."
"Too damn risky, Doc!", yelled another woman. It sounded like Eliza. "You have them stay in one place, they'll be sitting ducks for these bastards!"
"And I suppose you have a better idea?!"
Emma grew even more curious. It sounded like they were arguing about something not at all trivial. She didn't even knock on the door when she opened it…
"Gus?"
…And she quickly regretted her lack of tact.
"Not now, we- Twitch?!", Meghan exclaimed. "What are you doin' here?"
Emma expected to stumble upon a petty fight brewing between her colleagues. Instead, she saw a conference of Team Leaders and Intelligence Officers, all in black fatigues and serious eyes that made for a heavy atmosphere. Meghan Castellano was there, Rainbow's go-to girl for asset coordination and surveillance, but so was Erik Thorn, who headed up the Team's Urban Tactical Response group. Both of them had shed their Sim-Suits, adopting more sensible work clothes that spoke about the gravity of their discussions. Harry was also present, but his usual chill and affable demeanor was replaced by something more contemplative, even when he's in his semi-formal clothes. His arms were crossed and he stood upright rather than leaned on a nearby table, embodying his significant rank more than ever. And if Eliza Cohen was with him, the vaunted Forward Operations Leader herself, then it could only mean one thing.
What's more, the Ops Room had most of its monitors on, as though everyone was tuning into an ongoing transmission before Emma carelessly barged in. The air suddenly grew awkward.
"Uh… Juju said that Gustave is here…", she tried her best not to act like a complete idiot. "…Is …Is this a bad time?"
"Doc? Are ya still there?", a man spoke through the radio. It was a voice she recognized anywhere.
"Ethan?!"
She strode inside the Room, ignoring her colleagues' steely, disapproving glances. Her green eyes went wide in shock. Taking a closer look at all the monitors, only then did she realize the full extent of what was going on. The mission timer was on, so was the police scanner and the North American satellite uplink. One screen displayed the name 'Specialist Mallory, E.', seemingly awaiting a response from the nearby microphone. Another screen showed coordinates, a map, and a place: Iowa.
"Twitch? Is she with you?", Ethan called out again.
Before Emma could open her mouth, Gustave motioned her to stand aside. He had been speaking with him on the mic.
"Focus, my friend. Agnes needs medical attention. If her eyelids are not responding to stimuli, then the drug they gave her is likely very strong. Could stop her breathing completely."
Agnes. It was another name that felt familiar. Emma started piecing together a picture in her head, but she kept silent and let her fellows do the talking. Deep down, she realized she stumbled across something that didn't concern her. Something… ominous. Whatever it was, it made her training injuries the childish complaints that they were. Ethan's rants further alluded to it.
"Why the fuck would they do this to her?! She's just a kid, dammit!"
"Probably wanted to make it look like an accident for the cops.", Erik commented. "'A little girl fell asleep in the basement while the barn burned down'… Sounds good for the front page…"
"Jesus fucking Christ, man.", Meghan chided him. "And they say Cav is the psycho around here."
"Hey, I'm just saying how the CIA thinks."
CIA?
Harry stepped forward, as it was his turn to speak into the microphone. The fact that his mug lacked a beaming smile sent another alarm bell to Emma.
"Ethan, for now get as far away as you can from the place.", he spoke with authority. "Gustave will stay on the line to help you keep Agnes stable, while Meghan will monitor radio traffic for anything amiss… The rest of us will work on the intel you just sent."
"Copy that."
"Expect the police to close in on your grid. DOD plates on your vehicle will keep them from pulling you over, but you must exercise discretion nonetheless."
"Roger wilco, Six. I'm gonna continue along the highway. Call you back once I'm out of Dickinson, out."
"A-firm. Godspeed, soldier."
And with that, the line went dead.
Emma was still speechless. She heard quite a lot from their exchange, but she barely got the gist of it. As for her colleagues, they weren't exactly thrilled with what Ethan told them as well. A good look at their faces spoke volumes on what's going on in their heads. Worry, frustration, but focused. They were in crisis mode, albeit different from the usual crap the Team usually had on their plate. They started discussing amongst themselves, with any hope of levity quickly dashed.
"We don't even have an exfil plan for our guy?", Eliza complained to nobody in particular.
The Director of Team Rainbow shook his head, regretfully so.
"I'm afraid not. Ethan and I've agreed there wouldn't be any help coming his way should things go south. We've already risked too much to send one of us back to America."
"Hmph. I could've arranged a snatch team right now if the Under-Secretary-General wasn't here."
"We got no choice, Ash." Meghan turned to her. "We gotta keep Barston happy with the Program, or else he'll let the Security Council step on our toes."
"*scoffs* Politics. Just great."
"Hey, Ethan's gonna be fine.", Erik also chimed in. "He worked with the CIA before, so he knows a good bit of their playbook."
"Nice to see you D-boys are still the hopelessly-optimistic types.", the female SEAL gave a snide remark. "He's not in the Sandbox anymore, y'know. Different ballpark there."
"Erik, have our backchannels vetted again.", Harry brought the conversation back on track. "If the CIA was compromised this badly by the White Masks, then perhaps the others we've been talking to have suffered the same."
"You got it."
"Meghan, see if you can get the word out to your people in ONI. We need names, places, contacts… anything we can use for a cross-reference."
"Check that, Harry.", she nodded.
"Thank you. *clap* Let's go people. We have to put a lid on this, sharpish."
Emma's colleagues quickly dispersed, picking up phones or looking at monitors to extract important info. She was lost in a wave of bodies brushing past each other, as they went to their tasks with utmost conviction. And even then she still couldn't rightfully say she understood it all. But from what she gathered so far, it looked like Ethan was caught in a terrible bind. His mission in the US had gone awry, so much so that he had to phone in much of Rainbow's staff for a lifeline. Worse still, an innocent soul was seemingly caught in whatever mess he had gotten himself into. If she was the same 'Agnes' the Team cared for in Hereford a short while ago, then there was a whole other load of questions and fears that needed to be addressed.
CIA, White Masks, Agnes, Ethan… She heard enough. Emma had all but forgotten the purpose of her visit to the Operations Room, until Gustave went to her side and tilted his chin. To quickly answer his wordless question, she took out the ointment from her pocket and clamped it to the older man's hand. She didn't even listen to what he said to her next, as she instead left his side to speak with the one who could shed light on everything that just happened. She felt a bit anxious and tense. It was a natural reaction to the revelation that people she held dear were in grave danger.
"Harry?"
The job awaiting her in R&D would have to wait. Right now, there was a new objective in her head.
"*sigh* My apologies, Emmanuelle. If this is about us not telling you about Ethan's assignment…"
"No harm done, sir.", she spoke firmly. "What can I do to help him?"
…
Author's Notes/Comments: So yeah, things are starting to heat up, hence the title of the chapter. I packed as much action as I could while tying together Ethan's and Erin's respective story arcs; kudos to anyone who could figure out my plans for them. Also, in case anyone didn't get it, I was alluding to Aruni's gadget in Twitch's segment. I suppose that's a hint on what I'm gonna do in the next chapter, aside from Sam Fisher.