I just wanted to say thank you to Tempest for her review. Although I had not given up on this story, the lack of response to it made me ignore if for other works that were getting more attention, so this has languished on my hard drive. I'll be working on it some more now, though. And, as shown above, feedback will keep me hard at work on this. ^_~

Kyra Banks: Reconnaisance


18:30, April 10, 195 A.C. (two days after Operation Meteor)

"So," Duo began, "you never said why you're going to Germany."

Kyra nodded and indicated that she would explain as soon as she finished her bite of spaghetti. Heero continued eating with the same intense efficiency that characterized all his actions. Kyra was surprised that Heero had agreed to eat with them. "Perhaps he doesn't like field rations any more than the rest of us," Duo had mischievously suggested to her. She had laughed her first real laughter in a while at that.

"It's an intelligence gathering mission," Kyra began. "We've known about the existence of OZ for many years now. We know how they hide themselves in the Specials, how they have infiltrated the Alliance's mobile suit corps. However, I don't know where the money is coming from. OZ could not have developed advanced mobile suits at the rate they have without supplemental funding. After I left the rebels, I decided to discover where the funding was from. Knowing that might help us understand the guiding principles of OZ. So I did some preliminary research a couple weeks ago.

* * *

21:00, Two weeks earlier-

I carefully slide the last bobby pin into the pile of my hair. It wouldn't do to leave a trace behind so I wrap a hairnet around the mass of braids. I think that most of OZ's records on me have been lost or destroyed due to 'clerical error,' but caution is always the wisest course, you know. Next, I fasten the black leather of my gloves over the back of my wrists. Now only my face and two circles on the back of my hands are uncovered. In my flexible dance boots, I can become just another shadow. I finish my preparations slowly and quietly, calming myself and absorbing the quiet dark of my room. Finally I slide my gun into a holster on my lower back. The holster is designed to hug my body as closely as possible so that it does not catch on anything. Tonight my weapon of choice is a standard military issue sidearm; it will help complete my disguise later. I pull on a trench coat to hide my skintight black outfit and head out of the cheap motel. Next stop: OZ base.

21:30

I am thankful for the bright lights on the corners of the fence. They throw the rest of the area into deeper shadow and destroy the guards' night vision. Unfortunately, one soldier in each patrol has night vision goggles. Hiding behind the curb of the street that runs next to the base, so that the goggles cannot locate me, I slide thick rubber gloves over my hands to protect them from the electric fence. I've already ditched the trench coat in an alley not far away. Hopefully I'll be picking it up as I leave.

After checking the area, I crawl thirty feet and stop alongside the fence, still in deep shadow. I remain motionless as the guard sweeps over the perimeter with the night vision goggles. The guards don't expect anyone to get so close to the base or so low to the ground. They miss my hiding place. As the guard turns away, I rise slowly, avoiding the sudden movements that will draw their attention. Gripping the fence, I ease my weight onto the foot that is in the fence. I climb, balancing the need for silence with the need for speed. I can smell my boots and gloves burning. My whole body is tensed. It is a sturdy fence, reinforced to prevent cutting, making climbing easier.

As I reach the top, I get out wire cutters and snip the barbed wire. Pushing the wire aside with my gloved hands, I flip over the top and land on the balls of my feet, coming down through my feet like my dance teacher always said to do. I'm in. Or at least partially in, I remind myself. I run through the shadows and crouch next to the building. I put away my rubber gloves and wire cutters. Then I stay still, giving myself time to assess my situation. The window to my left is Captain Van der Wahl's office. Previous agents have discovered that Van der Wahl never turns on the alarm system in his room. We have broken into his office three times over the past ten years. If a breach of security were discovered, the Captain would set his alarm for perhaps the next two months, then he would once more grow lax. Van der Wahl has done more for the rebellion than many dedicated agents.

Tonight it seems that the good captain has not only neglected to set his alarm, he has also left his window open. It amazes me that a man who cannot understand even the most basic security precautions has been promoted to captain. Well, so much the better for me if OZ officials are incompetent. Remaining in the shadows, I reach a hand into the lighted area and open the window the rest of the way. Then I retreat into the shadow and wait for my chance. I watch the guards intently, ears open for any sound. The guards' attention is focused outside the fence and I step into the light. First one leg snakes through the opening. Then I duck my body through the window. Finally I pull in my other leg. It is a move I complete with the ease of long practice, as it is one of the most common maneuvers. Once inside, I crouch beneath the sill and check my watch, 21:45.

The next part of my mission will be the most difficult. I need to exit the office travel a hundred feet of hallway and pick the lock at the accounting department's office without being spotted. First I open the Captain's closet and remove on of his uniform coats. I remove the Captain's chevrons and replace them with my father's insignia. Next I switch the nameplate, Lt. Banks. This too belonged to my father. I pull on the coat. It is too big but it will pass from a distance. To complete my disguise I belt my holster over the Captain's coat.

I move toward the door of the dark room. Listening tautly, I step out into the hallway. I walk briskly, making no effort disguise my presence, looking as if I belong here. In about a minute and thirty seconds I've reached the accounting department. The only person I've encountered is someone who walked ahead of me for a few feet and never bothered to turn around. Those ten seconds, however, had been tense.

I reach into my pocket as if getting a key. Instead I pull out a lock pick. Looking slightly bored, I insert the pick into the lock and fiddle for a few seconds until the lock clicks. The accounting department has a very low security rating. I would never find such a simple lock on a more secure location.

I walk in and study the nameplates at each cubicle. I turn on the computer of a person named Sgt. Hoffman, Donations Coordinator. The cubicle walls keep the glow from leaving the office. When it asks for a password I type Kushrenada. All OZ computers come designed with that password and on low security computers such as this it is rarely changed. Right on the start screen is an icon for this month's donations. The list is complete with donors. I need to empty the trashcan to find other lists, but within three minutes I have a list of the donations to the OZ bases in the last three months. Skimming through the other titles in the trashcan, I strike gold, a document that says previous donors. Inside is a list of organizations that were to be the targets of a fundraising campaign. I finish skimming the list of titles. Then I send all the relevant files as email to a used computer I bought three years ago. The OZ computers have been configured so that they are incapable of copying to a disk. However, by emailing I can save the lists from another computer. After sending the email, I check my watch, 22:00.

It is time for me to go. Anyone in the office area later than ten is certain to be noticed. I shut down the computer, making certain to leave the monitor on, as that was how I found it. I retrace my steps, locking doors, restoring coats, closing windows and climbing over the fence once more. There is nothing I can do to repair the breech in the barbed wire but I left no clue as to who infiltrated the base or what my purpose was.

* * *

19:00, April 10, 195 A.C.

"So," Kyra concluded, "when I analyzed the data that I had stolen I found that the donors were mostly multinational corporations headquartered in Western Europe. I finally found about forty noblemen who were on the boards of many of those corporations. When I studied those men, I discovered that all of them spent a great deal of time in Luxembourg and Germany. So I'm off to that area to discover why rich aristocrats are funding OZ," Kyra finished with a smile.

"They could want war to enrich themselves. Industry makes a lot of money in a war," Duo suggested.

"I considered that, but some of these businesses would be unaffected or adversely affected by a war. I think their overall motive must be something deeper," Kyra answered in the tone of one who had thought much about the issue.

"Why Germany and not Luxembourg?" Duo inquired.

"I own a home in Germany. I'm going to install myself there 'for college,'" Kyra answered. "I'll be able to make side trips into Luxembourg from there."

"Well, I wish you luck. Tell me what you find."

"I'll do that," Kyra replied with a smile and conversation ended for the time being.