Jude Thaddeus - Desperate Causes
Paul Browning walked in the backdoor, wiping the dirt off his hands with a rag. He grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with cold water from the tap. As he took a long deep drink, the telephone rang. He reluctantly went over and answered the call. Once it was over, he made a quick phone call and headed back outside, grabbing his half filled glass on the way.
His girlfriend Debbie was pulling weeds from the vegetable garden and Paul handed her the glass of water. He rubbed her back as she finished the last of the water.
"What's up? You've got that look," she asked, handing the glass back and pushing her sunglasses up onto the top of her head.
"There was a call from work." Debbie rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Patrick's wife went into labor a month early and they need me to take his place at the demo in Cleveland. I need to leave first thing tomorrow."
"Tomorrow is Sunday and your nephew's baseball game. Alisha will be so upset that you're missing his game."
"I know, but I need to get to Cleveland to meet up with the rest of the team to rehearse. We do the product demo first thing Monday morning and I really haven't been involved with this project since the design phase. So, I really need the afternoon to get up to date on everything."
Debbie pulled down her shades and went back to pulling weeds. She had this conversation too often and she wasn't in the mood to argue today. And luckily Paul didn't push the issue. Though they had only been living together for just over a year, they had been together for five years and both knew when to let the subject lie for a while.
Paul headed back into the house, calling back that he was going to call Alisha and let her know the reason he would be missing Cassius' big game. He mentally prepared himself for her reaction; Alisha was more unforgiving than Debbie.
***
Paul checked into the hotel in Luanda and waited in his room until he was contacted. The air was sticky and oppressive and he really wished that he were in Cleveland instead of Angola. He pulled out the op-tech that Bernie and Al had put together and confirmed that everything was in working order. He unrolled the plans for the building that were concealed in shaving cream can and began to review them. The proposed entrance and egress were unguarded for several minutes during each shift change. He was to get into the building, access the safe in the CEO's office and retrieve the documents that would verify the Cuban's participation in the funding and training of the Movement for the Liberation of Angola's army.
Nearing dusk, Paul's nap was interrupted by a phone call. He picked up the receiver and was assaulted by a flurry of Portuguese.
"I will be in a taxi in front of the hotel in 25 minutes. The taxi number is 237 and I will be wearing a white cap. I will wait for 5 minutes only and then will leave. I will not initiate contact again." And the receiver went dead.
Paul dressed in his standard black outfit, but threw a beige blazer on over the ensemble so it did not scream "cat burglar" too loudly. The contacts ride was a rickety rust heap by it matched most of the other taxis on the road. But Tariq was a trusted contact that Paul had dealt with before. Paul got into the back seat of the taxi and Tariq drove silently to the area around the shipping headquarters north of the city in the major port.
"The building next door was owned by a man who thought that the government shipping company was making too much profit. In order to make a larger profit for himself he decided to take advantage of the shared wall between his building and the government's. When he put in the new ventilation system years ago, he had the contractors tie into the government building's system, by making a small hole in the wall and connecting the duct work." Tariq let out a small sound that conveyed his appreciation of the effort.
"When the government found out that they were cooling his building as well as theirs, he was tried and executed for treason against the government. The government sold both buildings, but never disconnected the two systems. I doubt the current owners know," Tariq added nonchalantly.
He parked the car on the south side of the neighboring building, in an alley, using a dumpster to partially shield the taxi from sight.
"The shift changes at 11:00, so you need to make your way into the building at precisely 11:00. The office is on the second floor. You will have 30 minutes to get in and retrieve the documents. I will return here at 11:30 and wait only 5 minutes and then I will leave. Until then, I will drive around the buildings to monitor for unusual activity. I will signal you if I notice anything suspicious." Paul nodded his head, testing the two way communication device and set his watch to match Tariq's.
Paul had never known Tariq to be so chatty before a mission, but welcomed the distraction this time. Paul was becoming uneasy with the relative ease of the situation. He had learned with many years of experience that when missions seem too easy, something would invariably go wrong. And this thought made him uncharacteristically quiet.
"See you in 30 minutes my friend" he offered as he slipped out of the car and into the shadows. Tariq answered with a tip of his cap.
Paul easily picked the lock of the shipping door and slipped inside. Following his instincts and his memory of the building layout, he proceeded to the room containing the access point for the ventilation system.
"I am so sick of crawling around in ventilation shafts. I really need to get the good gigs like Bond," he muttered to himself as he pulled the gate back on to the ductwork. He turned on his flashlight, put it in his mouth and pulled the map of the ventilation system out of his breast pocket and reviewed the path to the neighboring building. Once he established the direction, he turned off the light and began the long crawl. He hummed to himself songs to keep himself moving at a good clip and noticed a slight change in the duct diameter, signaling his arrival at the other building.
In a blind corner, he again took out the flashlight and map and confirmed his direction and the time. He had about 15 minutes to get upstairs and break into the safe. At the next opening, Paul crawled out of the ducts and lowered himself into a bathroom. He briefly listened at the door, opened the door a small crack and stuck his pen out the door. He looked into the lens at the end of the pen, which showed him the view of the hall in both directions. It was clear and he let himself out of the bathroom and headed right to the stairwell.
He quickly bounded up the stairs taking them two or three at a time and reached the second floor without detection. Using Bernie's pen again, the hallway proved to be clear and Paul slunk down the hallway hugging the wall. He got into the office using his favorite lock pick and found the safe with relative ease.
The wall safe was an easy crack and as he lifted the envelope out of the safe, he heard the door of the office click shut.
"Well, thank you for all your work; it makes my job less difficult." Paul turned around to see his favorite nemesis pointing a gun at him.
"Ah, darling, always late to the party" he quipped.
"No Paul, I would say I'm just in time. Place the envelope on the desk and leave your hands on the desk where I can see them."
"Might I say, you are looking lovely, even more so than usual. You almost glow. How's the love life?" He didn't know her name but they had this unusual banter and animosity between them. She always gave him a run for the money and he always did like a challenge. He placed the envelope down on the desktop and slowly placed his hands, palms down, on either side of the envelope. He gingerly flexed his elbow enough to feel the tip of the concealed blade poke his right wrist.
With the gun pointed directly at Paul's head, Irina cautiously moved closer to the desk and calculated the best way to get the envelope and disable the man at the same time. Her orders were to retrieve the documents for the Soviet government, who was curious about Cuba's unsanctioned involvement with the resistance movement. She was also under strict orders not to kill anyone, unless it was truly necessary. The fiasco with Sergi had left her under suspicion and constant surveillance. She marveled at the fact that the Russian surveillance team had eluded the suspicion on Jack thus far. It was only a matter of time until he noticed.
She mentally chastised herself for thinking of Jack at this critical moment; even brief thoughts of him set her mind reeling and distracted. Just as she picked up the envelope, Paul grabbed her wrist, cutting it shallowly. She quickly retaliated with a blow to his head with the butt of the gun. He fell back, releasing her wrist, but recovered quickly.
His foot flew out from beneath the desk and hooked her feet, causing her to fall backward and drop the gun. She rolled to the right, thinking he would come around the desk from the left and searched for the gun and shoved the envelope into her waistband.
She felt his arm curl around her neck from behind and instinctively elbowed backward. She caught him in the groin and he released her. She crawled under the desk and he grabbed furiously at her feet. She grabbed the wayward gun and came up, gun first. He again was behind her and she swung around, his fist hitting her forearm. He grabbed her arm as she squeezed off a shot into the ceiling and the two fell and rolled on the ground. She felt a sharp stab in her lower abdomen and realizing she still held the gun, pulled the trigger again. He gave her a weak forearm to chin and slumped away with a surprised look on his face. He hand clutched at his chest and he crumpled to a motionless mass on the floor.
Irina sat there a moment, staring and getting her breathing under control. Her fingers gingerly probed a deep gash in her abdomen and winced at the sharp stinging pain. This would require stitches. She heard footsteps coming up the hall and gathered herself and went out the window and repelled down to the ground, using the same apparatus she used to get into the building. Lights were popping on in the building and she heard the faint cries of guard dogs coming her way. She kept to the shadows and progressed quickly down the street. She slipped into an alley full of homeless people and settled in with them until the sirens passed.
After about an hour, she made her way, holding her throbbing side, to the waiting transport. Khasinau was waiting for her and glared at her.
"What took you so long? I heard the sirens" he seethed as he grabbed the envelop from her hand.
"A CIA operative was there when I arrived. We fought and he's dead," she hissed through clenched teeth. She lifted her shirt to inspect the wound. This would definitely require stitches. She moaned as the adrenaline started to wear off.
Khasinau looked over and hitched his shoulders. "We'll get you some medical attention back at the op center."
"How will I explain this to Jack? I had a hard enough time convincing him that the graze from the bullet last time was the result of an accident with an easel at my presentation at the conference." She slumped into the seat as the car made its way through the city.
"I believe that is in the same general vicinity of a scar from the removal of your appendix. Emergency appendectomy while Jack was out of town. I suspect that will be sufficient and garner you flowers" Khasinau replied callously.
"You're so thoughtful, Alex" she replied hoping he read the sarcasm loud and clear.
Paul Browning walked in the backdoor, wiping the dirt off his hands with a rag. He grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with cold water from the tap. As he took a long deep drink, the telephone rang. He reluctantly went over and answered the call. Once it was over, he made a quick phone call and headed back outside, grabbing his half filled glass on the way.
His girlfriend Debbie was pulling weeds from the vegetable garden and Paul handed her the glass of water. He rubbed her back as she finished the last of the water.
"What's up? You've got that look," she asked, handing the glass back and pushing her sunglasses up onto the top of her head.
"There was a call from work." Debbie rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Patrick's wife went into labor a month early and they need me to take his place at the demo in Cleveland. I need to leave first thing tomorrow."
"Tomorrow is Sunday and your nephew's baseball game. Alisha will be so upset that you're missing his game."
"I know, but I need to get to Cleveland to meet up with the rest of the team to rehearse. We do the product demo first thing Monday morning and I really haven't been involved with this project since the design phase. So, I really need the afternoon to get up to date on everything."
Debbie pulled down her shades and went back to pulling weeds. She had this conversation too often and she wasn't in the mood to argue today. And luckily Paul didn't push the issue. Though they had only been living together for just over a year, they had been together for five years and both knew when to let the subject lie for a while.
Paul headed back into the house, calling back that he was going to call Alisha and let her know the reason he would be missing Cassius' big game. He mentally prepared himself for her reaction; Alisha was more unforgiving than Debbie.
***
Paul checked into the hotel in Luanda and waited in his room until he was contacted. The air was sticky and oppressive and he really wished that he were in Cleveland instead of Angola. He pulled out the op-tech that Bernie and Al had put together and confirmed that everything was in working order. He unrolled the plans for the building that were concealed in shaving cream can and began to review them. The proposed entrance and egress were unguarded for several minutes during each shift change. He was to get into the building, access the safe in the CEO's office and retrieve the documents that would verify the Cuban's participation in the funding and training of the Movement for the Liberation of Angola's army.
Nearing dusk, Paul's nap was interrupted by a phone call. He picked up the receiver and was assaulted by a flurry of Portuguese.
"I will be in a taxi in front of the hotel in 25 minutes. The taxi number is 237 and I will be wearing a white cap. I will wait for 5 minutes only and then will leave. I will not initiate contact again." And the receiver went dead.
Paul dressed in his standard black outfit, but threw a beige blazer on over the ensemble so it did not scream "cat burglar" too loudly. The contacts ride was a rickety rust heap by it matched most of the other taxis on the road. But Tariq was a trusted contact that Paul had dealt with before. Paul got into the back seat of the taxi and Tariq drove silently to the area around the shipping headquarters north of the city in the major port.
"The building next door was owned by a man who thought that the government shipping company was making too much profit. In order to make a larger profit for himself he decided to take advantage of the shared wall between his building and the government's. When he put in the new ventilation system years ago, he had the contractors tie into the government building's system, by making a small hole in the wall and connecting the duct work." Tariq let out a small sound that conveyed his appreciation of the effort.
"When the government found out that they were cooling his building as well as theirs, he was tried and executed for treason against the government. The government sold both buildings, but never disconnected the two systems. I doubt the current owners know," Tariq added nonchalantly.
He parked the car on the south side of the neighboring building, in an alley, using a dumpster to partially shield the taxi from sight.
"The shift changes at 11:00, so you need to make your way into the building at precisely 11:00. The office is on the second floor. You will have 30 minutes to get in and retrieve the documents. I will return here at 11:30 and wait only 5 minutes and then I will leave. Until then, I will drive around the buildings to monitor for unusual activity. I will signal you if I notice anything suspicious." Paul nodded his head, testing the two way communication device and set his watch to match Tariq's.
Paul had never known Tariq to be so chatty before a mission, but welcomed the distraction this time. Paul was becoming uneasy with the relative ease of the situation. He had learned with many years of experience that when missions seem too easy, something would invariably go wrong. And this thought made him uncharacteristically quiet.
"See you in 30 minutes my friend" he offered as he slipped out of the car and into the shadows. Tariq answered with a tip of his cap.
Paul easily picked the lock of the shipping door and slipped inside. Following his instincts and his memory of the building layout, he proceeded to the room containing the access point for the ventilation system.
"I am so sick of crawling around in ventilation shafts. I really need to get the good gigs like Bond," he muttered to himself as he pulled the gate back on to the ductwork. He turned on his flashlight, put it in his mouth and pulled the map of the ventilation system out of his breast pocket and reviewed the path to the neighboring building. Once he established the direction, he turned off the light and began the long crawl. He hummed to himself songs to keep himself moving at a good clip and noticed a slight change in the duct diameter, signaling his arrival at the other building.
In a blind corner, he again took out the flashlight and map and confirmed his direction and the time. He had about 15 minutes to get upstairs and break into the safe. At the next opening, Paul crawled out of the ducts and lowered himself into a bathroom. He briefly listened at the door, opened the door a small crack and stuck his pen out the door. He looked into the lens at the end of the pen, which showed him the view of the hall in both directions. It was clear and he let himself out of the bathroom and headed right to the stairwell.
He quickly bounded up the stairs taking them two or three at a time and reached the second floor without detection. Using Bernie's pen again, the hallway proved to be clear and Paul slunk down the hallway hugging the wall. He got into the office using his favorite lock pick and found the safe with relative ease.
The wall safe was an easy crack and as he lifted the envelope out of the safe, he heard the door of the office click shut.
"Well, thank you for all your work; it makes my job less difficult." Paul turned around to see his favorite nemesis pointing a gun at him.
"Ah, darling, always late to the party" he quipped.
"No Paul, I would say I'm just in time. Place the envelope on the desk and leave your hands on the desk where I can see them."
"Might I say, you are looking lovely, even more so than usual. You almost glow. How's the love life?" He didn't know her name but they had this unusual banter and animosity between them. She always gave him a run for the money and he always did like a challenge. He placed the envelope down on the desktop and slowly placed his hands, palms down, on either side of the envelope. He gingerly flexed his elbow enough to feel the tip of the concealed blade poke his right wrist.
With the gun pointed directly at Paul's head, Irina cautiously moved closer to the desk and calculated the best way to get the envelope and disable the man at the same time. Her orders were to retrieve the documents for the Soviet government, who was curious about Cuba's unsanctioned involvement with the resistance movement. She was also under strict orders not to kill anyone, unless it was truly necessary. The fiasco with Sergi had left her under suspicion and constant surveillance. She marveled at the fact that the Russian surveillance team had eluded the suspicion on Jack thus far. It was only a matter of time until he noticed.
She mentally chastised herself for thinking of Jack at this critical moment; even brief thoughts of him set her mind reeling and distracted. Just as she picked up the envelope, Paul grabbed her wrist, cutting it shallowly. She quickly retaliated with a blow to his head with the butt of the gun. He fell back, releasing her wrist, but recovered quickly.
His foot flew out from beneath the desk and hooked her feet, causing her to fall backward and drop the gun. She rolled to the right, thinking he would come around the desk from the left and searched for the gun and shoved the envelope into her waistband.
She felt his arm curl around her neck from behind and instinctively elbowed backward. She caught him in the groin and he released her. She crawled under the desk and he grabbed furiously at her feet. She grabbed the wayward gun and came up, gun first. He again was behind her and she swung around, his fist hitting her forearm. He grabbed her arm as she squeezed off a shot into the ceiling and the two fell and rolled on the ground. She felt a sharp stab in her lower abdomen and realizing she still held the gun, pulled the trigger again. He gave her a weak forearm to chin and slumped away with a surprised look on his face. He hand clutched at his chest and he crumpled to a motionless mass on the floor.
Irina sat there a moment, staring and getting her breathing under control. Her fingers gingerly probed a deep gash in her abdomen and winced at the sharp stinging pain. This would require stitches. She heard footsteps coming up the hall and gathered herself and went out the window and repelled down to the ground, using the same apparatus she used to get into the building. Lights were popping on in the building and she heard the faint cries of guard dogs coming her way. She kept to the shadows and progressed quickly down the street. She slipped into an alley full of homeless people and settled in with them until the sirens passed.
After about an hour, she made her way, holding her throbbing side, to the waiting transport. Khasinau was waiting for her and glared at her.
"What took you so long? I heard the sirens" he seethed as he grabbed the envelop from her hand.
"A CIA operative was there when I arrived. We fought and he's dead," she hissed through clenched teeth. She lifted her shirt to inspect the wound. This would definitely require stitches. She moaned as the adrenaline started to wear off.
Khasinau looked over and hitched his shoulders. "We'll get you some medical attention back at the op center."
"How will I explain this to Jack? I had a hard enough time convincing him that the graze from the bullet last time was the result of an accident with an easel at my presentation at the conference." She slumped into the seat as the car made its way through the city.
"I believe that is in the same general vicinity of a scar from the removal of your appendix. Emergency appendectomy while Jack was out of town. I suspect that will be sufficient and garner you flowers" Khasinau replied callously.
"You're so thoughtful, Alex" she replied hoping he read the sarcasm loud and clear.