A/N: There appears to be some major delays in the submission system. My summary updates are occurring before the chapters go up, so you see that a new chapter's been posted before it actually has.
A/N: Okay, I just re-posted the last five chapters (thanks to a glitch in the HTML, I guess. They weren't popping up.), so, sorry, Noalyn, I didn't just post a billion chapters. Just three. To the rest of you,your patience would be nice, as the last chapters of this story are coming along quickly. I'd hate to lose any dedicated readers. Tally ho!
Fox's hands were shaking. A cold sweat clung to her fur, making her feel slow and heavy. The hot coffee couldn't cut the stress and fatigue.
"Where the hell is my SWAT team?" she demanded, slamming her fist down on the dashboard. Fedorov's head snapped forward from the headrest, the last half of a snore muted. He muttered to himself in Russian, and then rubbed his eyes.
"Time is it yet?" he asked slowly. Fox shook her head. She continued to look at the Parisian apartment building, number three-eight-zero-six. The fourth window from the ground was her target; apartment 4B. Her shock pistol lay on her lap, next to her Styrofoam cup. She'd blown her chance with stupid enthusiasm, and wasn't going to let herself do it again. She'd need backup, her rational brain told her.
When a black van rolled to a stop near the end of the block, she knew it was time. She opened the door to her yellow coupe and set her pistol to 'stun'.
"Okay, we're expecting unarmored threats. Three males, descriptions are on the board," SWAT commander Cyrus Argos began, the broad-shouldered ram pointed to hanging composite sketches of Cooper, Murray and Bentley. "This one, here, Cooper, is a dangerous one. He's been in the top twenty Interpol-most-wanted for a number of months, and he's known to carry a dangerous cane. Shoot to maim, we want him alive. Now, there are currently no warrants for the other two, but, should they be home, we'll take them into custody for questioning." He twisted around when the side door opened.
"About time!" Fox chided. Argos shrugged.
"Traffic."
"Alright, you ready?" Carmelita asked, charging up the first shot in her weapon with a high-pitched electronic whining.
"Whenever you are." Fox led the team out of the van and into the nearby building. Fedorov was already inside.
"Fourth floor, on the left," he whispered as he climbed the stairs behind Carmelita. When they arrived at the door, Fox took a position on the right, by the doorknob; Fedorov took a position on the left. Argos and another SWAT officer held a battering ram and began swinging for momentum.
"One, two," on 'three', Argos gave a mighty push, and the cylinder smashed into the door, breaking it off its hinges.
"Police! Arrest warrant!" Fox shouted, entering first. She moved into a living room, with two old couches and a food-stained recliner. The place stank of men. She led the team into the hallway. To her left was a kitchen. Two SWAT officers rushed in.
"Clear!" To the right, a bedroom, awfully neat compared to the rest of the apartment, with a computer on a desk in the corner.
"Clear!" Argos shouted. Fox moved to the end of the hall, passing a room piled high with foodstuffs, and kicked in the door.
"Damn!" she cursed, lowering her weapon. She slowly turned around in the cluttered bedroom, scanning the area with her eyes. "They're not here!" She had assured herself that they weren't going to be home. After all, they had skipped town to go rob another bank. But, there was a chance that someone was going to be there, and that there could be another lucky break. Fedorov entered the room, holstering his pistol.
"Nobody home," he observed. Outside, the uniformed police officers were beginning to show up, as they had been told to do after the team made their entry. Their squad cars' flashers made a pattern of blue and red along the walls and ceilings, making the scene all the more surreal.
"This is his room," Fox said slowly. "This is his room." She looked out the window at the street, then up to the skyline. She laughed to herself. All that time, she'd been looking far away, thinking that Cooper would be insane to live in Paris. The water-tower on top of the Interpol building could be seen from the bedroom. Granted, it was far and between two other buildings, but it could be seen.
Fox emerged from the front of the building and bent low under the yellow-tape perimeter being placed by the uniformed police officers. The forensics team was going to go through the apartment with a fine-toothed comb. Anything that could be of any use was going to be added to the case. It was the biggest boost to her career since being assigned to Interpol, but Fox could think of nothing better than going home and crawling into bed. She leaned on the hood of her car and rested her head in her hand, looking at the building. She watched people moving about in the windows and sighed. Her phone rang. Damn.
"Fox," she yawned. She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?" Her eyes went wide. "I'll be right there."
She wasn't kidding. She's a very, very good driver. The elevator was too slow, so she ran up the stairs. The nighttime office staff was there, and they all knew about her big break.
"Way to go, babe!" one of the male officers cheered. She resisted the urge to kick him, instead rushing to her office. The red light was flashing, meaning she had a call.
"I'm here," she said, closing her office door with her foot.
"He's still on the line. I'll connect you," the office operator said in her stereotypically high, operator-like voice.
"Willis," Fox said slowly. "How nice of you to call. You left me worried, what with your sudden escape and all. Rather miraculous, I might add."
Marvin scratched under his chin and looked about. Bentley wasn't listening in.
"Look," he said, "I'm calling to propose a deal."
"Yes," Fox said, intrigued.
"What if I said I could deliver the crew for you?"
"The people you worked with? Cooper?" Fox asked, her heart racing.
"Well," Marvin thought. "I guess it could be arranged." He looked behind him, to Bentley, who was hunched over a laptop computer with an earpiece microphone, walking Sly through their little espionage mission. The tortoise still didn't hear him. Good.
"What's in it for you?" Fox asked, certain there wasn't a free collar coming out of this.
"Immunity. I want my record wiped clean, I want a new identity and I want a new car."
Fox thought this over as she wrote the demands down. Immunity, identity, car? She underlined 'car'.
"Alright, I'll talk to some people, and see what I can do. How can I contact you?"
"Don't bother trying. I'll contact you." The line went dead. Fox gently placed her phone down on the receiver and stared at the floor.
Is this what its come to? Bargaining with one criminal for another? She didn't like it, but it would have to do.
Jerry extinguished his second cigar of the evening in the convenient ashtray.
"Salmon," Elser ordered, pointing to the menu, which was, thankfully, printed in Russian and German. The waiter nodded, not needing any paper to remember the orders, and collected the menus.
"Where's Bauer?" Larson asked casually, noticing there was a face missing from the table. Elser looked through his wine glass as he spoke.
"Who's Bauer?"
"Bauer," Jerry said, tenting his fingers across his chest, "is the burly Shepard in charge of finding and paying our extra hands, not to mention arranging our way in and way out." Larson was growing tired of not knowing the full story.
"Of where?" he growled. "Where are we going?" Larson turned to Elser. "It's near the Caspian Sea, but he refuses to tell even ME where, exactly, we're going." He looked at Jerry without turning his head. "He wanted transport for something big, though. Very, very big." Jerry smiled, pleased that the guessing game hadn't been completed. He remained silent and let the other two talk.
"Who is General Aleksyevna?" Anton asked.
"Who?"
"Exactly," Elser said. He wagged a finger at Jerry. "You've got some 'splaining to do." Jerry's smile widened, and he stood up.
"Meinhard!" he greeted. He extended his hand. A German Shepard with light brown fur except on the tips of his ears and around his nose, wearing exactly the same thing as the other men at the table, took Jerry's hand and shook it heartily. His body suggested lightheartedness with the way he moved around the chairs and reached to shake Jerry's hand, yet his face remained straight. His brow stayed forever pushed slightly downward, casting a shadow over his eyes.
"Jerry, ist es gut, Sie wieder zu sehen, Kamerad."
"Bitte," Jerry said, motioning to an empty seat, "sitzen Sie."
"Danke," Bauer said, politely taking his seat and folding his hands on the table, just behind his plate. Elser noticed he wore a silver ring.
"Bauer, meet Elser, Larson, Tomich, and Doonigan."
"Call me Anton," Anton insisted, not a moment after Jerry had mentioned his last name. Bauer nodded slightly.
"Well met, gentlemen." His English was superb, lacking a hint of an accent.
"The rest of the team was just asking me where we're going on this little expedition. Think its time to fill them in?" For the first time, Bauer's lips curled in a closed smile.
"Its as good of a time now than ever."