3:00 A.M., Munich
"Have the preparations been made?"
A few seconds of radio static, then a confident male voice responds, slightly muffled by his baklava, "Yes. I can't believe this bastard survived the first attack."
"Do not concern yourself with that. Just deliver the package."
"Roger that. Delivering package, over."
He turned off his radio and shoved the box gently underneath the bed. The man occupying the bed snorted, but he knew that, with as many machines hooked up to him as there were, he would not be awake when his room would be blown to pieces.
Hearing a sharp grunt, he turned to watch his female companion punch one of the guards in the face: the gas must not have affected him as well as it had the others. He would have to tell the commander about that.
He checked the timer on his watch, frozen for the moment. He turned his radio back on, turning the volume down as the static hit his ear.
"Sir, package has been delivered." He said, watching the timer.
"Activating counter," his watch beeped, and the timer started.
5:00…4:59…4:58…4:57…
"Now, get your asses out of there, over."
"Roger that, over and out." He changed the radio frequency and looked to his female companion, who was dragging the last guard down the hall. He followed her, picking up the guard's feet and helping her to carry him several rooms down to be thrown on a pile of unconscious hospital staff members and guards.
"About damn time you helped me with this. It doesn't take that long to set a bomb." She muttered angrily: why did he always have to be such a lazy jerk? Her own baklava was beginning to irritate her, itchy on her neck and hot, particularly after disposing of that last guard: he had actually fought off the effects of the gas and come at her, while that no-good jerk just waltzed into the room and left her to deal with him. At least the new hairstyle she had was cooler under the baklava than her previous mid-back cut.
"Well, if it wasn't for that old bullet wound, I would've gladly helped you with those guards, but it just keeps acting up." he said, gently closing the door behind them as they left. Their trip to the elevator was brief, and once inside the man checked his radio.
"How's our security looking?"
"Everything's fine, don't worry about it now." A female voice answered, "The cameras are off, and the alarms won't activate until we're well out of range. Trust in my skills." The man winked to his female companion, who only shook her head at him.
"Don't worry your pretty head about it. I have no doubt in your skills." He said over the radio, "You're the best in the world we could hope for." The elevator stopped on the first floor, and the woman pulled off her baklava, wiped the sweat off the back of her neck, and sighed in relief.
"You know, you looked really sexy back there," the man teased as he removed his own baklava, and she shot a glare at him, "Of course, you always look sexy." As the door opened, she took his hand and reviewed in her mind the part for her false identity once they got outside. Though it was frustrating to have him make fun of her like this, at least he was okay, and she owed her life to him, if not to a few others as well.
They moved quickly yet casually out of the elevator and into the lobby, past the front desk, and out the sliding doors, keeping their eyes open for patrolling police officers and wandering civilians.
"You know what?" She asked him as they made their way to the pickup point, thinking on the past several months of chaotic activity, bombings, and bittersweet revenge, "This job really sucks sometimes."
An explosion rocked the hospital, and a fifth floor window was blown out in a grand dance of fire, shattered glass, and what remained of the room the bomb was in. She looked back for only a moment, and then redirected her eyes forward. She knew that if they didn't finish the mission they would try to do it again, and that it wouldn't stop until all those aware of the project were dead.
"Well," he said, motioning to the explosion, "It does have its high points." He flashed his million-dollar grin, the one that made his rough-shaven face, casual-to-the-point-of-sloppy-dress, and otherwise unkempt appearance disappear under a mask of magnetic charm.
"What do you mean 'high points'?" she asked, turning to look at him "You call that a 'high point'?" When she noticed his smile though, she rolled her eyes, "You're such a jerk sometimes," not sounding serious as she partially unzipped the front of her black mission jacket, the cool night air relieving the heat held underneath her shirt next to her skin.
She reached into the jacket and clutched the ring she wore next to the white cross on her necklace and smiled: he had given it to her six months after the attack, after he had saved them all. Even three and a half years later it felt like the span of ten minutes.
Suddenly, a tiny black car pulled up alongside them, stopping on the curb. They both looked around quickly, and then slipped into the vehicle, which drove away with them without a moment's pause.
Safely in the back seat, the front passenger turned to them, a smile on his slightly aged features and gray hair combed back neatly. His kindly eyes met that of the woman's, and he cleared his throat to address both of them.
"Excellent work," he said, pulling a manila envelope from somewhere out of view of them in the front seat, "That makes it three confirmed top targets dead and close to eight lesser targets gone. By the way Major, Aida and Ayanami are both doing very well." With that, he laid the envelope in the woman's lap, and she nodded pleasantly.
"Good. I'm glad to hear that. When we send another package, may I write a letter to send along?" The older man nodded, and he leaned a little further towards both of them, his eyes traveling to the younger man. How he managed to keep so handsome and charming with the ladies was beyond him, particularly since he was no longer single.
"By the way, I have a new mission for you," he turned his head to face the woman, "A solo mission."
"Concerning who?" he asked, taking the manila envelope from his partner's lap and starting to open it. The older man shook his head, and the younger stopped his action, a look of intrigue on his face.
"No, that is not your mission. That is for the Major to handle. Your mission concerns Ayanami and Aida."
Automatically the young man knows what the seriousness in the commander's voice meant. He handed the envelope back to the Major, giving her a small grin, and then turning his attention to the commander.
"How long?" Were the first words to escape his lips, his thoughts returning to the plans they had made in the beginning for such an occasion. If there was still time, they would be able to help them. If not, they would be on their own, a situation that could prove far worse for them than they could ever imagine.
The commander looks away, his eyes fixing themselves on the world outside the car's front passenger window. He hated doing all of this: the bombings in England, then France, and now in Germany. But, he knew that, until all those who knew of their operations were sworn to silence or removed entirely, they would never see peace. They had survived, and their enemies were plotting the same fate for them that they were carrying out upon their attackers.
"They've been getting dangerously close to them in the past few months. At best, I'd say we have between five and seven months until they're discovered." He sighed, and then brought his stare back to the Major's unkempt husband, "Given our schedule though, we can only send one person to handle this."
"And so you select me?"
"Other than the Major, you are the most recognizable person to both Ayanami and Aida. I would go myself, but I fear I wouldn't be able to keep up with the two of them." He said as he pulled another envelope from the front seat, handing it to the young man, who opens it and dumps the contents onto his lap.
"Kallistrat Gavril? Looks like I'll have to brush up on my Russian." He chuckles a little, mostly to reassure himself that this all isn't some sort of bad dream. When he doesn't wake up, he only shrugs and lets his back come to rest against the seat.
"Commander, why are you sending him? Of all people, I should be the one handling this. They both know me…" the Major began to protest.
"That is why we can't send you. You are the most exposed member of our group. Their agents would be able to pick you out of a large crowd without complication. I am sorry, but it is the best interests of the safety of the group, Ayanami, and Aida." He knew the Major cared a lot about the safety of the children, but that affection could quickly turn into a weapon against her if she became revealed.
"Alright, you win this time. But I still don't like sitting here and not being able to help them." She finally conceded, opening her envelope and looking inside. When she saw the contents and realized what they meant, she smiled mischievously. So this was why she wasn't assigned to them.
Her husband noticed her grin and looked to her, "What's so funny?" She took notice of his look and smiled.
"Oh nothing. It's just that my next assignment is to extract information from a cute boy. An easy mission."
The commander nodded, a smile crossing his lips, "Yes, you seem to be perfectly…suitable for the mission."
The young man only looked at the two of them, a little concerned, mostly for himself. Who knew what was coming on this next mission? The enemy could have well over a dozen agents waiting to spring a trap on either him or the kids.
Oh well. I guess it's too late to quit this and go back to my garden.