Suite 308, Clinton Gardens Apartments, 7:35 a.m.
Building 2B wasn't particularly large for an apartment complex, and for that Coke was thankful. As soon as he crested the landing, he immediately took note of the floor's layout. What he saw reassured him. The staircase fed out into the middle of the floor for maximum convenience. Suite 308 was in the back right corner of a fairly long corridor. The stairs continued to lead upwards; to an attic Coke surmised. A quick glance up the stairwell confirmed as much. Good. That additional flight of stairs would provide useful cover for him should he for whatever reason need to duck out of sight.
Coke briskly stepped out of the landing and out into the hallway. He knew almost without thinking that the besides the fire escape at the opposite end of the hall, the stairs he had just climbed were the only way in or out. The hall was dimly lit at this hour. The lights' photosensitive switches had long since ticked off as the sun began to rise, but the light trickling in through the fire escape window was barely adequate, especially considering the overcast sky.
Coke paused momentarily to take in the situation. He had long ago learned to rely largely on intuition before all else. His academy training, coupled with his already fine survival instincts and honed to a razor edge by years of assignments, close calls, near misses and split- second gun battles for the smoking man had saved his ass many times before and would no doubt continue to serve him well for the next few years (or so he hoped). A slight headache was beginning to buzz around his temples. He pushed it aside and focused on the hallway. For perhaps five seconds he remained absolutely motionless. Specks of dust flared briefly in the shafted light and blinked out. The hallway carpet had a few minor stains on it and was probably due for a cleaning soon. His nostrils flared as he scented the faint, curdled lemon odor of Pinesol or some other industrial cleaner. The hall was silent. Well, almost. He thought he could make out the distant sound of a music coming from a few doors down. He instinctively knew that someone was home, although he doubted they would be a problem. The lights were out under the other doors.
These and thousands of other seemingly trivial details were inhaled, processed, categorized, distilled, and summarized in fractions of milliseconds on the lower, more basic levels of Coke's brain, hovering on the unconscious level. The only thing that mattered was the signal his Superego received from his Id and sensory cortex: threat assessment completed, danger is negligible. We are a go.
Quickly, Coke headed to the far wall and glided up the hall, his feet automatically slipping into the trained footsteps of one who has been conditioned to kill silently and well. The action was as natural as breathing and Coke no longer even thought about it. Within seconds he was beside the door of suite 308. There was no obvious light coming from under the door. Coke readied himself and, sliding his hand as far out as caution permitted, knocked on the door with three loud raps. No answer.
Coke waited a full minute before trying again, listening intently. While it was unlikely that Kiviat (if she was even in there) would answer the door, the question of whether or not she was in would be largely answered by any noises coming from the other side and any change in the peephole. After another minute had clicked by, Coke decided to make entry.
Reaching deep into his pocket, Coke slid out his electronic lock pick and went to work. Although loud, the lock pick was the quickest way to gain entry and he doubted anyone left on the floor would even hear it, much less notice. He slid the pick into the lock and thumbed the switch. After a few ratting whirrs, the door clicked and he withdrew the pick.
The sight which greeted his eyes was discouraging, but what he had expected. The room was dark (the blinds had been drawn) and smelled of wilted flowers. Clothes, papers, books, computer cables: everything could be found spread across the apartment floor. A quick glance around the apartment merely confirmed what he had known almost before arriving in town: Kiviat was long gone.
Coke closed the door behind him and immediately headed towards the most private room in the apartment: the bedroom. Coke turned on his flashlight. He couldn't risk turning on the lights or opening the shades. The former would arouse suspicion in anyone who might happen across him as he worked, the latter might alert someone to his presence. For all he knew, Christine Kiviat was just getting coffee a few blocks away and might notice her blinds up.
Immediately, Coke began to reprioritize his objectives. Eliminating Kiviat was (and always had been) a secondary consideration. Her flight was frustrating but not unexpected. She was after all a wanted felon and could expect the authorities to come after her in the next 48 hours. On the plus side, the fact that Kiviat had fled the scene suggested that she had taken the files with her somehow. No one would be so stupid as to jump town and leave their most valuable asset or gambling chip behind. The only questions now were 1) where she was and 2) where the data was hidden. The latter question was predicated upon the answer to the first, as she almost certainly had the data on her and as such it would have to be man-portable. He wondered...
Flashing the powerful, thin beam of light across the Kiviat's bedroom. It immediately rested on the desk in the back corner, beside the bed. Although it was covered with cables, wires, a lamp, a printer, and a blinking modem, it was missing one crucial component.
Coke was interrupted in mid-thought by an angry, buzzing vibration in his breast pocket. He cursed himself mentally for allowing himself to get lost in his thoughts and pulled out his phone.
"Coke."
"Give me a status update Stephen." Coke glanced around the room, allowing the beam of light from his flashlight to dance off the various picture frames in the room.
"I've made entry," he responded in a clipped, businesslike tone. "Target is not present at her last known address. Preliminary search indicates the data is with the target and is no longer at the apartment."
"How do you know?" the voice was even, tinged with a slight hint of curiosity. Stephen felt adrenaline course through his veins.
"Because her laptop is gone. There are easier ways to store data, if that was all she cared about. She could have uploaded it onto a palm pilot or burned it onto a CD. Instead she took the whole damn computer."
"Are you sure?" Coke thought for a minute.
"No, I'm not sure," he replied, resignation in his voice. "I imagine that it's possible she burned the data onto a CD and hid it here or elsewhere in the hopes of recovering it later. She could also have sent it to someone else online. However, under the circumstances I feel this is-"
"-highly unlikely, I know," the boss cut him off. "It is the opinion of my colleagues and I that she is running scared. Otherwise she would not have called Mulder for help." Another pause as he inhaled another puff from his cigarette. A long silence followed. Coke was unsure what to say and was about to speak when the boss spoke again.
"Coke, this is what I want you to do. Find Kiviat at all costs. She must not be allowed to make contact with Mulder, is that understood?"
"Understood sir." Coke played his flashlight beams across the room, hoping to gleam something of use while still paying attention to his boss.
"One more thing Stephen. You remember how I mentioned Mulder earlier this morning?"
"Uh-huh,"Coke mumbled in the affirmative.
"Well, just in case you were wondering, sources at the Hoover building have informed me that Mulder and his partner got Kiviat's message. All signs indicate that he has taken the case and, while not aware of the full implications of this...affair, he does seem to be giving Kiviat a high priority. There is only so much I can do to keep him off the trail. One way or another, I'd say you have until 2 p.m. before Mulder makes contact with her and the data is lost."
"You got it sir." The phone clicked off.
Coke closed the phone and stifled a sigh. Just great. He had until 2? Glancing down at his watch, Coke could see it was a little after 8:00. That gave him less than 6 hours to find Kiviat, a task which seemed nearly impossible. All the while his headache seemed to be getting worse. Where would he even start? He had no idea where Kiviat even was, and sitting around her apartment waiting for her to return when she already had the data with her was not something he could waste time on.
Coke slowly replayed all the possible scenarios in his head. Kiviat. Kiviat was gone. Kiviat had the data. Ergo, the data was gone. Mulder wanted to see Kiviat and Kiviat wanted to see Mulder, presumably to give the data to him. The big question of course was just how and when the two were going to come into contact. Kiviat had contacted Mulder, he knew that for sure. Therefore, Mulder would try to contact Kiviat back sometime soon, if he hadn't already. And contact without the internet meant...
The beam from Coke's flashlight flew across the room and landed on the living room coffee table. On it was an answering machine with 1 read message on it. Coke smiled to himself. Bingo! This might not turn out to be such a bad morning after all.
Thanks for the reviews guys, and keep it coming! Things have just started to get interesting, and seeing how Coke has just 6 hours to get Kiviat, things are coming to a head real soon. I have the ending mostly planned out, but if you want to give me suggestions or feedback, feel free by e- mailing me at mllautwm.edu mailto:mllautwm.edu Thanks!
Building 2B wasn't particularly large for an apartment complex, and for that Coke was thankful. As soon as he crested the landing, he immediately took note of the floor's layout. What he saw reassured him. The staircase fed out into the middle of the floor for maximum convenience. Suite 308 was in the back right corner of a fairly long corridor. The stairs continued to lead upwards; to an attic Coke surmised. A quick glance up the stairwell confirmed as much. Good. That additional flight of stairs would provide useful cover for him should he for whatever reason need to duck out of sight.
Coke briskly stepped out of the landing and out into the hallway. He knew almost without thinking that the besides the fire escape at the opposite end of the hall, the stairs he had just climbed were the only way in or out. The hall was dimly lit at this hour. The lights' photosensitive switches had long since ticked off as the sun began to rise, but the light trickling in through the fire escape window was barely adequate, especially considering the overcast sky.
Coke paused momentarily to take in the situation. He had long ago learned to rely largely on intuition before all else. His academy training, coupled with his already fine survival instincts and honed to a razor edge by years of assignments, close calls, near misses and split- second gun battles for the smoking man had saved his ass many times before and would no doubt continue to serve him well for the next few years (or so he hoped). A slight headache was beginning to buzz around his temples. He pushed it aside and focused on the hallway. For perhaps five seconds he remained absolutely motionless. Specks of dust flared briefly in the shafted light and blinked out. The hallway carpet had a few minor stains on it and was probably due for a cleaning soon. His nostrils flared as he scented the faint, curdled lemon odor of Pinesol or some other industrial cleaner. The hall was silent. Well, almost. He thought he could make out the distant sound of a music coming from a few doors down. He instinctively knew that someone was home, although he doubted they would be a problem. The lights were out under the other doors.
These and thousands of other seemingly trivial details were inhaled, processed, categorized, distilled, and summarized in fractions of milliseconds on the lower, more basic levels of Coke's brain, hovering on the unconscious level. The only thing that mattered was the signal his Superego received from his Id and sensory cortex: threat assessment completed, danger is negligible. We are a go.
Quickly, Coke headed to the far wall and glided up the hall, his feet automatically slipping into the trained footsteps of one who has been conditioned to kill silently and well. The action was as natural as breathing and Coke no longer even thought about it. Within seconds he was beside the door of suite 308. There was no obvious light coming from under the door. Coke readied himself and, sliding his hand as far out as caution permitted, knocked on the door with three loud raps. No answer.
Coke waited a full minute before trying again, listening intently. While it was unlikely that Kiviat (if she was even in there) would answer the door, the question of whether or not she was in would be largely answered by any noises coming from the other side and any change in the peephole. After another minute had clicked by, Coke decided to make entry.
Reaching deep into his pocket, Coke slid out his electronic lock pick and went to work. Although loud, the lock pick was the quickest way to gain entry and he doubted anyone left on the floor would even hear it, much less notice. He slid the pick into the lock and thumbed the switch. After a few ratting whirrs, the door clicked and he withdrew the pick.
The sight which greeted his eyes was discouraging, but what he had expected. The room was dark (the blinds had been drawn) and smelled of wilted flowers. Clothes, papers, books, computer cables: everything could be found spread across the apartment floor. A quick glance around the apartment merely confirmed what he had known almost before arriving in town: Kiviat was long gone.
Coke closed the door behind him and immediately headed towards the most private room in the apartment: the bedroom. Coke turned on his flashlight. He couldn't risk turning on the lights or opening the shades. The former would arouse suspicion in anyone who might happen across him as he worked, the latter might alert someone to his presence. For all he knew, Christine Kiviat was just getting coffee a few blocks away and might notice her blinds up.
Immediately, Coke began to reprioritize his objectives. Eliminating Kiviat was (and always had been) a secondary consideration. Her flight was frustrating but not unexpected. She was after all a wanted felon and could expect the authorities to come after her in the next 48 hours. On the plus side, the fact that Kiviat had fled the scene suggested that she had taken the files with her somehow. No one would be so stupid as to jump town and leave their most valuable asset or gambling chip behind. The only questions now were 1) where she was and 2) where the data was hidden. The latter question was predicated upon the answer to the first, as she almost certainly had the data on her and as such it would have to be man-portable. He wondered...
Flashing the powerful, thin beam of light across the Kiviat's bedroom. It immediately rested on the desk in the back corner, beside the bed. Although it was covered with cables, wires, a lamp, a printer, and a blinking modem, it was missing one crucial component.
Coke was interrupted in mid-thought by an angry, buzzing vibration in his breast pocket. He cursed himself mentally for allowing himself to get lost in his thoughts and pulled out his phone.
"Coke."
"Give me a status update Stephen." Coke glanced around the room, allowing the beam of light from his flashlight to dance off the various picture frames in the room.
"I've made entry," he responded in a clipped, businesslike tone. "Target is not present at her last known address. Preliminary search indicates the data is with the target and is no longer at the apartment."
"How do you know?" the voice was even, tinged with a slight hint of curiosity. Stephen felt adrenaline course through his veins.
"Because her laptop is gone. There are easier ways to store data, if that was all she cared about. She could have uploaded it onto a palm pilot or burned it onto a CD. Instead she took the whole damn computer."
"Are you sure?" Coke thought for a minute.
"No, I'm not sure," he replied, resignation in his voice. "I imagine that it's possible she burned the data onto a CD and hid it here or elsewhere in the hopes of recovering it later. She could also have sent it to someone else online. However, under the circumstances I feel this is-"
"-highly unlikely, I know," the boss cut him off. "It is the opinion of my colleagues and I that she is running scared. Otherwise she would not have called Mulder for help." Another pause as he inhaled another puff from his cigarette. A long silence followed. Coke was unsure what to say and was about to speak when the boss spoke again.
"Coke, this is what I want you to do. Find Kiviat at all costs. She must not be allowed to make contact with Mulder, is that understood?"
"Understood sir." Coke played his flashlight beams across the room, hoping to gleam something of use while still paying attention to his boss.
"One more thing Stephen. You remember how I mentioned Mulder earlier this morning?"
"Uh-huh,"Coke mumbled in the affirmative.
"Well, just in case you were wondering, sources at the Hoover building have informed me that Mulder and his partner got Kiviat's message. All signs indicate that he has taken the case and, while not aware of the full implications of this...affair, he does seem to be giving Kiviat a high priority. There is only so much I can do to keep him off the trail. One way or another, I'd say you have until 2 p.m. before Mulder makes contact with her and the data is lost."
"You got it sir." The phone clicked off.
Coke closed the phone and stifled a sigh. Just great. He had until 2? Glancing down at his watch, Coke could see it was a little after 8:00. That gave him less than 6 hours to find Kiviat, a task which seemed nearly impossible. All the while his headache seemed to be getting worse. Where would he even start? He had no idea where Kiviat even was, and sitting around her apartment waiting for her to return when she already had the data with her was not something he could waste time on.
Coke slowly replayed all the possible scenarios in his head. Kiviat. Kiviat was gone. Kiviat had the data. Ergo, the data was gone. Mulder wanted to see Kiviat and Kiviat wanted to see Mulder, presumably to give the data to him. The big question of course was just how and when the two were going to come into contact. Kiviat had contacted Mulder, he knew that for sure. Therefore, Mulder would try to contact Kiviat back sometime soon, if he hadn't already. And contact without the internet meant...
The beam from Coke's flashlight flew across the room and landed on the living room coffee table. On it was an answering machine with 1 read message on it. Coke smiled to himself. Bingo! This might not turn out to be such a bad morning after all.
Thanks for the reviews guys, and keep it coming! Things have just started to get interesting, and seeing how Coke has just 6 hours to get Kiviat, things are coming to a head real soon. I have the ending mostly planned out, but if you want to give me suggestions or feedback, feel free by e- mailing me at mllautwm.edu mailto:mllautwm.edu Thanks!