A/N: No, no green beret here. But I *do* like to sound authentic. *grin* I love writing the action stuff; I hope you all like reading it!
Search and Seizure - Chapter 3- infie
Recap: (Wednesday)
"Maybe it's time for someone to tell him how much his family hates to lose him." 529 retorted.
511 stared at him consideringly. "Maybe." he conceeded, turning back to his maps. "But I'll tell you right now, knowing how much he hates to think about all that stuff, it won't be me. Now get back to work."
(Tuesday, 2300 hrs)
494 paced. And paced. And paced some more.
Finally 511 had enough. "Ahmad! Sit down, or go out on surveillance. Whatever! But either way, Stop. That. Now." 529 muttered his agreement from his position propped against his duffel, listening intently to the radio traffic from the compound. All three of the transgenics were looking the worse for wear, facial hair growth having passed beyond the 'sexy stubble' stage but not quite reaching the 'very short beard' stage.
"I don't like it." 494 ran his hand through his black hair, unconsciously stopping to rub the tiny bump of the transmitter behind his ear. Just watching him made 511's own head itch, and he forcibly beat down the desire to scratch it. "There's something not right here."
"We all agree on that one." 529 said, opening his eyes. "But we also all agree that we have no grounds to abort. We're outside of the profile, but still within mission parameters. And we have our orders to proceed."
494 snorted. {Like I give a shit about orders.} He stopped pacing, shook out the folds of his burnous, and waved at the cloud of dust that was produced. "All right," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'll go in tonight. If everything goes according to plan, in two days we'll be sipping scotch back home. Let's go over the details again."
511 nodded and brought out the map of the compound, drawn in 494's neat, precise hand. "You'll enter the ventilation system of the underground portion of the facility here." he pointed to a tiny, meticulous star inscribed on the southern side of the rock face. "We know from your surveys that there are only three rooms underground, and that one of them, this one," he indicated the room marked with a one-eyed happy face, "Is the most likely one used for cold storage, evidenced by the additional metal found during our satellite resonance scans, plus the additional electrical and water conduits going to it."
His finger traced out a path on the map. "This ventilation shaft will take you directly to the cold storage area. Say, thirty metres in. Basic alarm system. Piece of cake for someone of your incomparable talent." 494 couldn't help it, he smirked. "And back out the same way. If anything goes wrong, your number one alternative exit is route B, here to the north, followed by route C to the east. I'll be..."
"You and 529 will stay here." 494 told him with finality. "You'll be my support and backup plan."
511 bit his lip, dark eyes grave, then nodded reluctantly. "All right, commander. We'll monitor your progress from here. Once you have the sample, you book it to our primary rendezvous point. Anything happens, and just tell us which RV you're headed for." he tapped the back of his ear meaningfully. "We'll meet up and head home."
"All right. I'm heading in at 0300. Wake me then." he suddenly gave them a cocky grin. "Cheer up, guys. Walk in the park." he headed for his duffel / bed roll. {Now, if only I could shake the feeling this is all about to go sideways.} He saw 511 stare up at the sky, and knew his friend was fighting the same misgivings. {I would have thought that when they made us they'd have left superstition out of the mix.} He fingered his pistol absently. {Bastards.} He closed his eyes and was immediately asleep.
(Wednesday, 0245 hrs)
511 checked his watch, then motioned for 529 to preceed him up out of their hiding spot. Knowing the deal, 529 didn't argue, just sprang to the ledge in one easy swirl of black cloth. He moved back from the edge, out of the line of fire. 511 followed, looking down at 494's sleeping form, then deliberately eased off the safety on his gun.
494 was instantly and impressively awake. He rolled to the opposite edge of the grotto in a blur of speed, coming up on one knee and training his Glock unerringly between 511's laughing brown eyes. 511 was standing at the very lip of the crevice, hands spread, pistol dangling from his index finger, eyes dancing with mischief.
"Fuck." 494 breathed out in a great whoosh of sound, lowering his gun, and his head. He glared up at 511 darkly, but the corner of his mouth twitched as he supressed an unwilling smile. "You could have just said 'Hey, Ahmad, time to get up.'" he rose and began brushing the newest layer of dirt off of his robes. 511 and 529 dropped softly back down beside him, snickering softly, though still cautiously (and intelligently) out of arm's reach.
"I could have." 511's voice was rich with amusement. "But this way was so much more fun." 529 snickered, moving to check his beloved receiver again. "Just be glad your clothes aren't pink."
"Huh." 494 didn't sound convinced. He unzipped his duffel and pulled out his covert garb, a skin-tight black catsuit and hood, with a mottled mesh face cover. He began to strip.
"You know, the interior is going to be lighted 24/7. Once you're in you're going to stand out like a big black spot on a big white wall." 529 told 494 conversationally as the latter slid his legs into the snug pants and 511 started making a small pile of the equipment 494 would be needing. 494 picked up the shirt and turned it partly inside out, revealing the cream coloured inner layer.
"Fully reversible." he told 529. "Us solo specialists come prepared." he paused. "Well, prepared for black or white. If the walls are red, I'm fucked." He pulled on the shirt in one easy movement and reached for the headpiece.
"You probably wouldn't be too thrilled with neon green, either." 511 bantered casually, examining a tiny mag scope carefully. "And I've heard that purple is all the rage these days."
494 ignored him pointedly and finished suiting up, placing his matte-black mesh equipment vest on over the sweater and filling the pockets rapidly. Finally, he squeezed some dark-coloured paste from a tiny tube onto his fingers and scrubbed them across his teeth, staining them and hiding their telltale white gleam. "All right," he said, rolling his shoulders, taking a deep breath and rubbing his hands together briskly, finishing up by cracking his knuckles. "All set. Let's rock." He jumped to the edge of the crevice and disappeared into the night.
494 avoided the perimeter and interior guards with practiced ease. He'd been inside the compound several times each night during the past week, checking and rechecking his map and route information. He knew he was going overboard on the caution, but for some reason the Lydecker missions had a habit of carrying surprises with them. Deadly surprises. He made his way to the southern rock face and scaled it smoothly, stopping at the carefully hidden recess that marked the entrance to the ventilation systems. The security system was a joke, and it only took seconds to strip and cross clamp the wiring. He made quick work of the screws holding the vent screen in place, and slipped inside silently. "I'm in." he muttered, knowing 529 would hear him.
The shaft was too small to be comfortable, maybe a meter by a half, and 494 ruthlessly clamped down on the impending claustrophobia that was the product of too many hours spent in Manticore's punishment boxes. All of the X5s suffered from it to one degree or another. 494 was fortunate; for the most part he barely noticed, and what he couldn't avoid he could successfully control with a minimum of effort. 529, on the other hand, would have been incoherent by now. It was one of the reasons that he was a comm specialist, so that he could stay away from the tight quarters so frequently necessary during missions.
494 extracted a tiny pin light from a bicep pocket and examined the interior of the shaft minutely. Smooth steel, faintly dusty, ever so slightly pitted from long use. 494 frowned. {Exactly what I'd expect. Why does that bother me so much?} He froze in place, all senses on full alert as he tried to identify the cause of his disquiet. Finally he shrugged and began to make his way towards the cold storage room by dragging himself along on his elbows. He kept his legs absolutely still to help minimize potential sources of noise. "Proceeding to the target." he whispered so quietly that it was almost subvocal. Every two metres or so he paused, flipping back on the pinlight and subjecting the next area of vent to the same meticulous scrutiny as the previous section. He repeated the process over and over, until he estimated that he was within five metres of the target room. A light shone through a tiny pattern of vent holes up ahead of him, denoting a tightly woven screen covering the ventilation holes. "Three metres out." He returned the pin light to his pocket and made for the screen.
511 and 529 were both hunched tensely over the receiver, headsets firmly planted over intently listening ears. They heard rustling, so faint as to be almost inaudible, even by transgenic standards. 511 moved restlessly, shifting tense shoulder muscles, and 529 jumped as if he'd been goosed. He gave 511 a dark look, but 511 just flicked a hand at him, concentrating on the tenuous audio feed connecting them to 494's movements. Soft breathing came through the headsets, followed by vaguely metallic rasping sounds.
[I'm in.]
Both of the waiting men sighed with relief.
[Proceeding to the target.]
More rhythmic rustling noises followed, with brief pauses every minute or so. 511 could picture 494 making his way through the vent clearly in his mind, and the frustration of waiting on the sidelines grated on his nerves. He realized with surprise that his hands hurt, and had to consciously focus to convince his fists to unclench. He rubbed his palms self-consciously against the tan fabric of his robe-covered thighs, grinning slightly when he saw 529 surreptitiously doing the same thing. The rustling noises stopped, and they each held their breath, straining to hear the slightest sound.
[Three metres out.]
At the curt update, both men started breathing again. They exchanged a sheepish look and huddled back around the receiver, hands now clamped tightly against their earpieces. The sounds of movement resumed.
When it came, the minute click was astonishingly loud.
529's eyes sought 511's and found them wide with panic. [Oh, fu...] The crackle of rampaging electricity cut off the transmission of 494's absurdly casual curse. 529 frantically changed channels, initiated whisker sweeps, and cursed fluently as 511 stood over him, hands clenched.
Their only answer was static.