Chemistry Chapter 4
Writer's Note: Because of Word Perfect 10's Extremely Problematic Nature, my Original author's note that was 3 paragraphs long was torn from the sketchbook of existence, crumpled up, and tossed into the wastebin of oblivion. Due to the fact that I have run fresh out of the drive and motivation to write another, I will keep it short. This one goes out to the young couples out there. ?????
(Enjoi.)
Chapter Four: arm in arm.
As the shuttle touched down and began to taxi to the terminal, people began to un-buckle their seat belts and take their things out of the overhead bins. One well dressed young man began to remove the overnight bag of his traveling partner, but his traveling partner told him if he began insisting on taking her bag she was going to remove his head with her hands. Quatre backed off, his arms raised in surrender. "Okay, take your bag. "With that he handed her the overnight bag. As they passed the assortment of Shops and restaurants that led to the baggage check of Jurgen Von Holstein spaceport, one of the two partners was developing large bags under their eyes, and they were losing energy fast. The trip was 12 hours and only one of them slept. The other observed this.
"You okay? " "Yeah, im fine. Im going to sleep once we get to the hotel."
When they picked up Quatre's bag from the baggage claim, Dorothy flagged a taxi. The wind picked up, and Dorothy's hair flared. The middle-aged man in the business suit to her left caught the ends of it in his face. He dropped his bags to get it off his face but he lost his balance and toppled into an oncoming car. He let out a muffled "OOF! "As he was knocked three feet down the surprisingly empty road, banged into the back of another car, and was run over by the car that hit him. Nobody noticed, though, because they were all transfixed on Dorothy, who casually pushed her hair behind her ears. She was looking up at the Earth, Admiring the tiny dots of lights that were the cities of Asia. Her long golden locks flowed behind her, drawing attention from every corner of the pickup drive. Quatre smiled at her as he pushed his luggage into the trunk of the taxi. Dorothy, despite her feelings, she scowled back at him.
The driver looked back at them as they piled into the back seat. He was a short, very young. His license that sat on the dashboard said his name was Christopher Jones, age 17, from the islands of Dominica. "Hey guys," he said in a very Spanish/New York accent. His voice was curiously about the pitch of someone half his age. "Dark is setting in, so im gonna get you as close as the New Berlin Hilton until I have to turn back and head home." after getting nods from both passengers, he prepared to shift into gear, when he noticed one. "You okay?" he asked. "Im fine, just get us there." was the answer. He added;"If I don't get you there in time, no charge." after giving a smile he informed them to buckle their seat belts and hold on. After getting onto the autobahn, he accelerated to 120 miles per hour, not having to move to avoid traffic because everyone had already moved into the safety of their own houses to keep from quickly freezing to death. The few stragglers were heading there too, Chris figured. After the creation of the atmosphere of the moon, the average "Daytime"temperature of the moon was about 76 Degrees. But as it moved into the earth's shadow, the temperature plummeted to -80 Degrees. Most cars simply would not run, and only people equipped special heated suits could go outside. Most businesses that could not operate under such conditions or could not be run from the moon's telecommunications networks, it simply was shut down until the sun shone again, or until the earth moved into position to reflect light. Jones' home was on the other side of town, and he had only 4 minutes until he reached the point that he would not be able to get home before the dark side reached it. He looked back again. One of his young passengers was fighting to keep from passing out, obviously exhausted. He pushed a little harder on the pedals and felt the spoiler push the car slightly more towards the ground.
He was now three blocks away from the Hilton when his timer went off. He gritted his teeth and pushed past three yellow lights, costing him a precious ten seconds. He wasn't fast enough to beat the last. The light tuned red and Chris Jones cursed loudly in Spanish. He could see the staggering sun begin to vanish behind the beautiful image of earth. By morning they would be basking in the light of the sun reflected by earth for 7 hours until they were plunged into cold dark once again. Quatre and Dorothy read Chris' dilemma and dismounted the vehicle. After retrieving the luggage, Jones Spun the car in place, making a loud screeching and producing lots of smoke. He ignored the red lights and sped towards home. As the two made their way to the front doors two-hundred yards away, one of them coughed, and their legs gave way. Dorothy, in a desperate attempt reached for Quatre, and caught him...just before he was about to get a face full of sidewalk. "You moron." she started. "You should have slept on the plane, like I did."
Dorothy didnt know it of course, but he did sleep the first two hours of the flight, while Dorothy stared out the window before falling asleep herself. He woke up and stroked the hair of the girl he loved, her face bearing an expression of angelic peace. This was one of the rare moments her true beauty came out. He procured a blanket from the stewardess, and covered her.
Dorothy pulled strength from deep inside her and picked up Quatre, both her arms holding him, his head lolling over Dorothy's right forearm, her left arm carried his legs. 50 yards from the from doors, the dark side, simply a line separating light from dark moving at a jogging pace came and overtook her, immediate freezing cold washing over them both. The fire inside Dorothy flared up, her will refusing to give up. Her muscles were crying-screaming at her for relief when she kicked open the doors to the lobby, Quatre's bag on her back like a bookbag, her overnight bag slung over her shoulder. Two bellboys took their luggage as she checked in.
The purser already knew who they were and was awaiting them. When they stopped on the 354th floor, the 2nd presidential suite, she opened the door and almost screamed in horror. Inside the suite, was a black-and-white striped love seat in front of a massive 5-foot television, an intricate- looking entertainment system beside it, the antenna for a 9.9 surround system on top of it all. The floor was all light shag carpet, and there was a complete absence of hard walls except the west wall that separated the hallway and elevator. The walls were all glass, giving a dazzling 270 degree view of the massive city. Few buildings stretched higher than the enormous 6-star hotel. What made Dorothy so angry was the bed. It wasn't the 2 queens of the presidential suite, but the single massive double king, a massive mirror for a ceiling. Someone in the council had given them the grand honeymoon suite. Dorothy vowed, she would find the sick bastard who had made this blunder, weather purposely or not she would see too it there would be a reckoning. She pulled the sheets back, took of his suit and vest, and put Quatre into the bed. She looked to the couch, and it didnt take long for her to realize she would have no chance getting any rest on the small thing. She hesitantly shed her bomber jacket, socks, boots, and jeans and climbed into bed with Quatre. His lips were purple, and his body was cold to the touch. were Dorothy's last thoughts before drifting off to sleep. An hour later she was gently snoring away, her face deceivingly innocent. Quatre had snuggled up closer to her, he clung to her arm and rested his head on her shoulder, and his legs pulled up towards his chest. Chase Fernander, head of services of all Penthouse suites(352nd floor to 360th)Sat in the 300th floor locker room. His name tag, however said he was Joe VanNeilsteroy. He got a real kick out of this, the fact that there was nobody on the moon who followed Soccer, and would recognize his blatantly fake name, that being one of one of the best players that ever played the game. He wouldn't have to worry much about it though, he would only be here for a few minutes more. In an hour he would be in the terminal in Holstein airport, on the 7:00 shuttle to Fort Lauderdale, the home of the preventors SPECWARCOM, which stood for special war command. The nerve center of all Preventor special/espionage operations. Fernander was a spy. Joe, his temporary persona was a head of services in the Nassau section. The usual New Berlin H.O.S. (Head of Services) was in his house with a team of preventors, on a sort of house arrest. He had called in sick with pneumonia. To replace him, Berlin called the home office. The home office, under temporary authority with the preventors cooperated by not sending anyone at all. Joe showed up that day posing as a H.O.S. (HEAD OF SERVICES) of the Nassau branch, working for the weekend. His one and only objective was at the moment sleeping in the honeymoon suite. He made sure nobody else was in the locker room, then opened up the panel in the shower. Behind it was a brick wall. It appeared solid to the untamed eye, but fernander saw the loose brick quickly. He pulled it out, and jammed the brick onto the mortar behind it. After two solid strikes, it slid aside, showing a small keypad. After entering his code, a second tile panel slipped out on the other side of the shower. He replaced the brick and the first panel and moved to the second. Inside was a camera, black stealth suit, sneak boots and a very large, heavy backpack with fasteners and straps. He quickly changed into the tight suit, an easy task for he was built very skinny and lanky, but short. He put on the ski mask, the pack, checked it, then double-checked it. He chuckled when he saw the face paint. he thought. He tossed the stuff into the incinerator chute. His dark chocolate skin gave him enough camouflage, he wouldn't need the artificial crap. He pulled the two rubber climbers from his cargo pockets and attached them to his hands. After searching around his Heavy pack, he found the Mark-55. He pulled off the upper floor ventilation shaft. He placed one hand on the hard aluminum plating, pushed, and turned his hand, locking the mechanism into place. After making sure he was properly anchored into place, he replaced the vent grill and began the tedious vertical trek up to the 354th floor., his french-made suction-cup style climbers making little noise.
Dorothy shifted in her bed. Although her eyes were closed, she was wide awake. From the information she had gathered from her ears and analyzed in her head in the past 15 seconds, somebody had came through the vent by the couch and was now loading something. She shifted to the side once more, letting her arm fall off the right side of the bed, opposite the Intruder, and onto her clothes. Without moving her body, she navigated her hand into her socks, where she found her 22. Silenced pistol. She turned off the safety and was about to sit up and shoot the man when a bright flash stunned her. She instinctively put her hand in front of her face. She cocked the pistol and began to shoot. The man had a tactical sneak suit, one not unlike her own, but more standard, and was made with spidersilk kevlar. He also had night vision goggles and a ski mask. He shoved a small, shiny object into his pants and ducked under the love seat. Dorothy thought, wrongly. He rolled out from behind it and was on his feet and sprinting. Dorothy's bullets were missing him by inches, the small- caliber rounds rebounding off the reinforced glass just behind the short spy. He pushed open the window at the east side of the suite and jumped out into the cold lunar night, disappearing from view.
Fernander quickly tucked his arms and legs back and angled himself around to the west side of the building, using small movements in his arms and hands to control his turning as he fell rapidly, his black silhouette almost invisible in the downtown skyline. The earth was just rising. The temperature was 30 degrees, and a few cars could be seen moving in the near pitch-black, not counting the bright lights of the few buildings that had them on at this unusual hour. Not wasting any time he fumbled in the harness of the large pack on his back and found what he was looking for. He yanked his rip-cord and felt the usual jolt has his special-forces-issue parachute deployed at 2,000 feet. He depressed a toggle on his watch/transmitter and scanned the skyline. His hands were wrapped around the chute's risers, slowing his decent. He found what he was looking for, the bright flashing of an ultraviolet strobe light, Its signal only detectable by night vision. He turned toward it and eased up on his risers, letting him fall faster. When he was about 10 feet above the target, the rooftop of an office center, where his strobe had been placed the day before, he pulled hard on his risers, yanking them all the way to his thighs. He landed relatively soft. He quickly removed the harness and moved to the roof fan. After jamming it with a nearby stick, he reached in and found the package. A plastic bag duct-taped to the inside of the 5- foot wide fan cowling, also placed there the day before. Fernander opened it and changed into the street clothes he found inside in 30 seconds. He pushed his suit, his headgear, and his boots into the shaft which lead to the incineration burners 50 stories below. He checked his watch and rushed to the west side of the roof. Exactly 10 seconds later his watch notified him it was 6:00 and 00 seconds Luna/berlin time. He took the camera, reached his arm off the corner of the roof and dropped it. 50 stories below, agent Charlie Castillo stopped walking, put his large paper bag down about an arm's length from the corner of the building, and pulled out a cigarette. A few seconds earlier he received the confirmation message from fernander that he had the picture and the literal drop was on. He also was fully aware he was making spying history with this highly complicated drop. Usually agents shared things by brush-passes, in which agents would meet in a crowded area, brush past each other and one would hand off the information without anyone around noticing it, usually dropping it into their open bag or pocket by slight of hand. If not that then the more common "Dead drop" in which an agent would specify a location where he or she would leave the information, then another agent would come by later and pick it up. This was a mix of both. The first time something like it was ever attempted. He lit the cigarette, and heard the sound of a digital camera traveling at about 200 miles per hour land into his bag ,splattering about the 12 pounds of lime-flavored jell-O inside it. He Picked up the bag, acting as if there was absolutely nothing amiss, and returned to his car. His partner, Sonny "Bebop" Rollins started the car and started off into the direction of the preventor safehouse that they called home. Castillo fished the camera out of the jell-O and ejected its disk. After quickly inspecting it, assured there was no jell-O on it, he inserted it into the laptop balanced on the door of the glove compartment. He attached the single picture on the disk onto an email and sent it.
The picture went from the computer to its wireless modem. From there it was transmitted to a communications satellite orbiting 200 miles above them. From there it went to another orbiting earth. It then was beamed to the ISP's telecommunications receiver in Florence. From there it was transferred to the inter Mediterranean ISDN fiber-optics cable system. It then shot straight to the Earth sphere council network and was routed to the personal computer of the chairman of the council in his office. The entire elapsed time of the transfer of the file, from when it was pulled from a jell-O-covered camera and sent from a laptop in downtown New Berlin, Luna to when it landed on the desk of the chairman of the Earth Sphere Council, Sanc Kingdom was 6.61 seconds. The chairman glanced at his watch, and smiled. he thought, the computer chiming and informing him that "He's Got Mail!" The Time was 6:00 and 26 seconds Luna time. he said, internally. He opened the file on his computer and was ecstatic what he saw. A clearly defined image of Quatre and Dorothy in a large hotel bed. Quatre didnt give the passionate embrace of a lover, but was clutching Dorothy's arm like a young boy cuddles with a furry stuffed animal he is very fond of. Nevertheless, it was progress indeed. he thought. Claudius Burrows threw his arms behind his head, smiled inwardly, and leaned back putting his parade-shined bates onto his polished redwood desk. A thing he hadn't done in 10 years.
In the hotel room, Dorothy was fuming. Apparently, someone had obviously tried to kill them. She knew that certain corporations funding the operation of the factory would find a way of stopping the massive scandal and crackdown that would certainly occur if the secret plant was compromised. But an assassination? Dorothy hadn't thought of it. She also totally forgot to let her contacts in those corporations know that she had no choice but comply with the council. She was a target now.
Quatre was on the bed, getting over the shock of one, where the hell he was and how he had just blacked out in the middle of the street, and two, how in hell he woke up in a massive penthouse, clinging to Dorothy's half- naked form. She explained what happened from last night when he passed out to when the assassin jumped out of the window. "What was the flash, then?" he asked. Dorothy was taken aback by the question. She hadn't thought of that. "I dunno." she replied, admittedly. "I think that wasn't a gun he had, Dorothy, but a camera." Dorothy thought about it. Quatre's explanation made just as much sense as hers, and it also explained why there was a flash, but no bang, and the reason why she was alive. But this could only mean one thing. "Blackmail!." she blurted. "That's why it was a camera. They wanted a picture of us in bed! But how did they know?" Dorothy began to pace, ranting out loud. "Two council members on an investigation mission for the council found sleeping in the same bed-" Quatre got up off the bed, still in his button-up shirt and dress pants. "Look, nobody knows we are here for the council. Anybody would assume that we traveled here for the big celebration parade. It's the only reason. The council has no leaks, especially to the media. Everyone in that house loathes the press and would die before letting a word slip." Dorothy's pace sped up. "But that doesn't matter. That picture is solid, unfakeable evidence. If word got out that you and I were a COUPLE, then..." she trailed off, the thoughts that came after that so intense that she was at a loss for words. She then happened to look -really look- back at what she had just said, and her train of thought hit the emergency brakes, derailing the whole thing. All other thoughts washed away and was left with nothing but the echo of her last words.
She stopped pacing, and turned to look at quatre. His expression was that of pure hurt. Her last statement had jammed through his chest and pierced his heart like the unforgiving end of a bayonet. "W-Would it really be that bad if we were together?"he stammered, his face forcing guilt's icy cold though Dorothy's soul.
She remembered that for the past 4 years Quatre was madly in love with her and although she denied it fiercely, also was just as crazy about him. "No, it wouldn't that bad at all." she answered with all sincerity and truth in her voice. She saw a sort of half-hearted smirk of triumph form on his face. "Don't get the wrong idea, I still hate you!" The smirk on his face grew into a wide grin. "And you wonder why I like you so much." He said. Dorothy wasn't used to being taken so lightly. Her cheeks burned red. She leaned forward, her fists were balled up at her sides, her arms tense. "What's so funny? I'm not kidding! I'm dead serious!" Quatre began to laugh at her. "Its no use, you only get cuter when you get mad." Dorothy was about to verbally cut him down when the doorbell rang.
Dorothy stomped across the room and jerked it open. A young room service boy had a cart laden with shiny brass plates, utensils and glasses in front of the door. "Im here with your breakfast." he told her. "Move out of my way." she snapped, motioning with her hand. "Why?" the bellboy asked curiously, innocence in his voice. "Because i'm going to storm out and slam the door!" the boy moved the cart. "Oh, why didn't you just say so? "He replied. Dorothy turned on her heel back to Quatre. He had sat back on the bed, his hands folded on his lap. His lips were pursed in a tight smile, trying hard not to laugh, but it was attempting to force its way out his nose. "Asshole!" she yelled at him. And with that, she executed an about-face and stormed out of the suite, slamming the door behind her, leaving Quatre on the penthouse floor in stitches, clutching his gut.
After Quatre ate his breakfast, he went downstairs and inqured the pursor on the whereabouts of Dorothy. Armed with this information, he hatched a cunning plan of attack. IT was not so much as cunning as incredibly simple. He was going to apologise.
Writer's Note: Because of Word Perfect 10's Extremely Problematic Nature, my Original author's note that was 3 paragraphs long was torn from the sketchbook of existence, crumpled up, and tossed into the wastebin of oblivion. Due to the fact that I have run fresh out of the drive and motivation to write another, I will keep it short. This one goes out to the young couples out there. ?????
(Enjoi.)
Chapter Four: arm in arm.
As the shuttle touched down and began to taxi to the terminal, people began to un-buckle their seat belts and take their things out of the overhead bins. One well dressed young man began to remove the overnight bag of his traveling partner, but his traveling partner told him if he began insisting on taking her bag she was going to remove his head with her hands. Quatre backed off, his arms raised in surrender. "Okay, take your bag. "With that he handed her the overnight bag. As they passed the assortment of Shops and restaurants that led to the baggage check of Jurgen Von Holstein spaceport, one of the two partners was developing large bags under their eyes, and they were losing energy fast. The trip was 12 hours and only one of them slept. The other observed this.
"You okay? " "Yeah, im fine. Im going to sleep once we get to the hotel."
When they picked up Quatre's bag from the baggage claim, Dorothy flagged a taxi. The wind picked up, and Dorothy's hair flared. The middle-aged man in the business suit to her left caught the ends of it in his face. He dropped his bags to get it off his face but he lost his balance and toppled into an oncoming car. He let out a muffled "OOF! "As he was knocked three feet down the surprisingly empty road, banged into the back of another car, and was run over by the car that hit him. Nobody noticed, though, because they were all transfixed on Dorothy, who casually pushed her hair behind her ears. She was looking up at the Earth, Admiring the tiny dots of lights that were the cities of Asia. Her long golden locks flowed behind her, drawing attention from every corner of the pickup drive. Quatre smiled at her as he pushed his luggage into the trunk of the taxi. Dorothy, despite her feelings, she scowled back at him.
The driver looked back at them as they piled into the back seat. He was a short, very young. His license that sat on the dashboard said his name was Christopher Jones, age 17, from the islands of Dominica. "Hey guys," he said in a very Spanish/New York accent. His voice was curiously about the pitch of someone half his age. "Dark is setting in, so im gonna get you as close as the New Berlin Hilton until I have to turn back and head home." after getting nods from both passengers, he prepared to shift into gear, when he noticed one. "You okay?" he asked. "Im fine, just get us there." was the answer. He added;"If I don't get you there in time, no charge." after giving a smile he informed them to buckle their seat belts and hold on. After getting onto the autobahn, he accelerated to 120 miles per hour, not having to move to avoid traffic because everyone had already moved into the safety of their own houses to keep from quickly freezing to death. The few stragglers were heading there too, Chris figured. After the creation of the atmosphere of the moon, the average "Daytime"temperature of the moon was about 76 Degrees. But as it moved into the earth's shadow, the temperature plummeted to -80 Degrees. Most cars simply would not run, and only people equipped special heated suits could go outside. Most businesses that could not operate under such conditions or could not be run from the moon's telecommunications networks, it simply was shut down until the sun shone again, or until the earth moved into position to reflect light. Jones' home was on the other side of town, and he had only 4 minutes until he reached the point that he would not be able to get home before the dark side reached it. He looked back again. One of his young passengers was fighting to keep from passing out, obviously exhausted. He pushed a little harder on the pedals and felt the spoiler push the car slightly more towards the ground.
He was now three blocks away from the Hilton when his timer went off. He gritted his teeth and pushed past three yellow lights, costing him a precious ten seconds. He wasn't fast enough to beat the last. The light tuned red and Chris Jones cursed loudly in Spanish. He could see the staggering sun begin to vanish behind the beautiful image of earth. By morning they would be basking in the light of the sun reflected by earth for 7 hours until they were plunged into cold dark once again. Quatre and Dorothy read Chris' dilemma and dismounted the vehicle. After retrieving the luggage, Jones Spun the car in place, making a loud screeching and producing lots of smoke. He ignored the red lights and sped towards home. As the two made their way to the front doors two-hundred yards away, one of them coughed, and their legs gave way. Dorothy, in a desperate attempt reached for Quatre, and caught him...just before he was about to get a face full of sidewalk. "You moron." she started. "You should have slept on the plane, like I did."
Dorothy didnt know it of course, but he did sleep the first two hours of the flight, while Dorothy stared out the window before falling asleep herself. He woke up and stroked the hair of the girl he loved, her face bearing an expression of angelic peace. This was one of the rare moments her true beauty came out. He procured a blanket from the stewardess, and covered her.
Dorothy pulled strength from deep inside her and picked up Quatre, both her arms holding him, his head lolling over Dorothy's right forearm, her left arm carried his legs. 50 yards from the from doors, the dark side, simply a line separating light from dark moving at a jogging pace came and overtook her, immediate freezing cold washing over them both. The fire inside Dorothy flared up, her will refusing to give up. Her muscles were crying-screaming at her for relief when she kicked open the doors to the lobby, Quatre's bag on her back like a bookbag, her overnight bag slung over her shoulder. Two bellboys took their luggage as she checked in.
The purser already knew who they were and was awaiting them. When they stopped on the 354th floor, the 2nd presidential suite, she opened the door and almost screamed in horror. Inside the suite, was a black-and-white striped love seat in front of a massive 5-foot television, an intricate- looking entertainment system beside it, the antenna for a 9.9 surround system on top of it all. The floor was all light shag carpet, and there was a complete absence of hard walls except the west wall that separated the hallway and elevator. The walls were all glass, giving a dazzling 270 degree view of the massive city. Few buildings stretched higher than the enormous 6-star hotel. What made Dorothy so angry was the bed. It wasn't the 2 queens of the presidential suite, but the single massive double king, a massive mirror for a ceiling. Someone in the council had given them the grand honeymoon suite. Dorothy vowed, she would find the sick bastard who had made this blunder, weather purposely or not she would see too it there would be a reckoning. She pulled the sheets back, took of his suit and vest, and put Quatre into the bed. She looked to the couch, and it didnt take long for her to realize she would have no chance getting any rest on the small thing. She hesitantly shed her bomber jacket, socks, boots, and jeans and climbed into bed with Quatre. His lips were purple, and his body was cold to the touch. were Dorothy's last thoughts before drifting off to sleep. An hour later she was gently snoring away, her face deceivingly innocent. Quatre had snuggled up closer to her, he clung to her arm and rested his head on her shoulder, and his legs pulled up towards his chest. Chase Fernander, head of services of all Penthouse suites(352nd floor to 360th)Sat in the 300th floor locker room. His name tag, however said he was Joe VanNeilsteroy. He got a real kick out of this, the fact that there was nobody on the moon who followed Soccer, and would recognize his blatantly fake name, that being one of one of the best players that ever played the game. He wouldn't have to worry much about it though, he would only be here for a few minutes more. In an hour he would be in the terminal in Holstein airport, on the 7:00 shuttle to Fort Lauderdale, the home of the preventors SPECWARCOM, which stood for special war command. The nerve center of all Preventor special/espionage operations. Fernander was a spy. Joe, his temporary persona was a head of services in the Nassau section. The usual New Berlin H.O.S. (Head of Services) was in his house with a team of preventors, on a sort of house arrest. He had called in sick with pneumonia. To replace him, Berlin called the home office. The home office, under temporary authority with the preventors cooperated by not sending anyone at all. Joe showed up that day posing as a H.O.S. (HEAD OF SERVICES) of the Nassau branch, working for the weekend. His one and only objective was at the moment sleeping in the honeymoon suite. He made sure nobody else was in the locker room, then opened up the panel in the shower. Behind it was a brick wall. It appeared solid to the untamed eye, but fernander saw the loose brick quickly. He pulled it out, and jammed the brick onto the mortar behind it. After two solid strikes, it slid aside, showing a small keypad. After entering his code, a second tile panel slipped out on the other side of the shower. He replaced the brick and the first panel and moved to the second. Inside was a camera, black stealth suit, sneak boots and a very large, heavy backpack with fasteners and straps. He quickly changed into the tight suit, an easy task for he was built very skinny and lanky, but short. He put on the ski mask, the pack, checked it, then double-checked it. He chuckled when he saw the face paint. he thought. He tossed the stuff into the incinerator chute. His dark chocolate skin gave him enough camouflage, he wouldn't need the artificial crap. He pulled the two rubber climbers from his cargo pockets and attached them to his hands. After searching around his Heavy pack, he found the Mark-55. He pulled off the upper floor ventilation shaft. He placed one hand on the hard aluminum plating, pushed, and turned his hand, locking the mechanism into place. After making sure he was properly anchored into place, he replaced the vent grill and began the tedious vertical trek up to the 354th floor., his french-made suction-cup style climbers making little noise.
Dorothy shifted in her bed. Although her eyes were closed, she was wide awake. From the information she had gathered from her ears and analyzed in her head in the past 15 seconds, somebody had came through the vent by the couch and was now loading something. She shifted to the side once more, letting her arm fall off the right side of the bed, opposite the Intruder, and onto her clothes. Without moving her body, she navigated her hand into her socks, where she found her 22. Silenced pistol. She turned off the safety and was about to sit up and shoot the man when a bright flash stunned her. She instinctively put her hand in front of her face. She cocked the pistol and began to shoot. The man had a tactical sneak suit, one not unlike her own, but more standard, and was made with spidersilk kevlar. He also had night vision goggles and a ski mask. He shoved a small, shiny object into his pants and ducked under the love seat. Dorothy thought, wrongly. He rolled out from behind it and was on his feet and sprinting. Dorothy's bullets were missing him by inches, the small- caliber rounds rebounding off the reinforced glass just behind the short spy. He pushed open the window at the east side of the suite and jumped out into the cold lunar night, disappearing from view.
Fernander quickly tucked his arms and legs back and angled himself around to the west side of the building, using small movements in his arms and hands to control his turning as he fell rapidly, his black silhouette almost invisible in the downtown skyline. The earth was just rising. The temperature was 30 degrees, and a few cars could be seen moving in the near pitch-black, not counting the bright lights of the few buildings that had them on at this unusual hour. Not wasting any time he fumbled in the harness of the large pack on his back and found what he was looking for. He yanked his rip-cord and felt the usual jolt has his special-forces-issue parachute deployed at 2,000 feet. He depressed a toggle on his watch/transmitter and scanned the skyline. His hands were wrapped around the chute's risers, slowing his decent. He found what he was looking for, the bright flashing of an ultraviolet strobe light, Its signal only detectable by night vision. He turned toward it and eased up on his risers, letting him fall faster. When he was about 10 feet above the target, the rooftop of an office center, where his strobe had been placed the day before, he pulled hard on his risers, yanking them all the way to his thighs. He landed relatively soft. He quickly removed the harness and moved to the roof fan. After jamming it with a nearby stick, he reached in and found the package. A plastic bag duct-taped to the inside of the 5- foot wide fan cowling, also placed there the day before. Fernander opened it and changed into the street clothes he found inside in 30 seconds. He pushed his suit, his headgear, and his boots into the shaft which lead to the incineration burners 50 stories below. He checked his watch and rushed to the west side of the roof. Exactly 10 seconds later his watch notified him it was 6:00 and 00 seconds Luna/berlin time. He took the camera, reached his arm off the corner of the roof and dropped it. 50 stories below, agent Charlie Castillo stopped walking, put his large paper bag down about an arm's length from the corner of the building, and pulled out a cigarette. A few seconds earlier he received the confirmation message from fernander that he had the picture and the literal drop was on. He also was fully aware he was making spying history with this highly complicated drop. Usually agents shared things by brush-passes, in which agents would meet in a crowded area, brush past each other and one would hand off the information without anyone around noticing it, usually dropping it into their open bag or pocket by slight of hand. If not that then the more common "Dead drop" in which an agent would specify a location where he or she would leave the information, then another agent would come by later and pick it up. This was a mix of both. The first time something like it was ever attempted. He lit the cigarette, and heard the sound of a digital camera traveling at about 200 miles per hour land into his bag ,splattering about the 12 pounds of lime-flavored jell-O inside it. He Picked up the bag, acting as if there was absolutely nothing amiss, and returned to his car. His partner, Sonny "Bebop" Rollins started the car and started off into the direction of the preventor safehouse that they called home. Castillo fished the camera out of the jell-O and ejected its disk. After quickly inspecting it, assured there was no jell-O on it, he inserted it into the laptop balanced on the door of the glove compartment. He attached the single picture on the disk onto an email and sent it.
The picture went from the computer to its wireless modem. From there it was transmitted to a communications satellite orbiting 200 miles above them. From there it went to another orbiting earth. It then was beamed to the ISP's telecommunications receiver in Florence. From there it was transferred to the inter Mediterranean ISDN fiber-optics cable system. It then shot straight to the Earth sphere council network and was routed to the personal computer of the chairman of the council in his office. The entire elapsed time of the transfer of the file, from when it was pulled from a jell-O-covered camera and sent from a laptop in downtown New Berlin, Luna to when it landed on the desk of the chairman of the Earth Sphere Council, Sanc Kingdom was 6.61 seconds. The chairman glanced at his watch, and smiled. he thought, the computer chiming and informing him that "He's Got Mail!" The Time was 6:00 and 26 seconds Luna time. he said, internally. He opened the file on his computer and was ecstatic what he saw. A clearly defined image of Quatre and Dorothy in a large hotel bed. Quatre didnt give the passionate embrace of a lover, but was clutching Dorothy's arm like a young boy cuddles with a furry stuffed animal he is very fond of. Nevertheless, it was progress indeed. he thought. Claudius Burrows threw his arms behind his head, smiled inwardly, and leaned back putting his parade-shined bates onto his polished redwood desk. A thing he hadn't done in 10 years.
In the hotel room, Dorothy was fuming. Apparently, someone had obviously tried to kill them. She knew that certain corporations funding the operation of the factory would find a way of stopping the massive scandal and crackdown that would certainly occur if the secret plant was compromised. But an assassination? Dorothy hadn't thought of it. She also totally forgot to let her contacts in those corporations know that she had no choice but comply with the council. She was a target now.
Quatre was on the bed, getting over the shock of one, where the hell he was and how he had just blacked out in the middle of the street, and two, how in hell he woke up in a massive penthouse, clinging to Dorothy's half- naked form. She explained what happened from last night when he passed out to when the assassin jumped out of the window. "What was the flash, then?" he asked. Dorothy was taken aback by the question. She hadn't thought of that. "I dunno." she replied, admittedly. "I think that wasn't a gun he had, Dorothy, but a camera." Dorothy thought about it. Quatre's explanation made just as much sense as hers, and it also explained why there was a flash, but no bang, and the reason why she was alive. But this could only mean one thing. "Blackmail!." she blurted. "That's why it was a camera. They wanted a picture of us in bed! But how did they know?" Dorothy began to pace, ranting out loud. "Two council members on an investigation mission for the council found sleeping in the same bed-" Quatre got up off the bed, still in his button-up shirt and dress pants. "Look, nobody knows we are here for the council. Anybody would assume that we traveled here for the big celebration parade. It's the only reason. The council has no leaks, especially to the media. Everyone in that house loathes the press and would die before letting a word slip." Dorothy's pace sped up. "But that doesn't matter. That picture is solid, unfakeable evidence. If word got out that you and I were a COUPLE, then..." she trailed off, the thoughts that came after that so intense that she was at a loss for words. She then happened to look -really look- back at what she had just said, and her train of thought hit the emergency brakes, derailing the whole thing. All other thoughts washed away and was left with nothing but the echo of her last words.
She stopped pacing, and turned to look at quatre. His expression was that of pure hurt. Her last statement had jammed through his chest and pierced his heart like the unforgiving end of a bayonet. "W-Would it really be that bad if we were together?"he stammered, his face forcing guilt's icy cold though Dorothy's soul.
She remembered that for the past 4 years Quatre was madly in love with her and although she denied it fiercely, also was just as crazy about him. "No, it wouldn't that bad at all." she answered with all sincerity and truth in her voice. She saw a sort of half-hearted smirk of triumph form on his face. "Don't get the wrong idea, I still hate you!" The smirk on his face grew into a wide grin. "And you wonder why I like you so much." He said. Dorothy wasn't used to being taken so lightly. Her cheeks burned red. She leaned forward, her fists were balled up at her sides, her arms tense. "What's so funny? I'm not kidding! I'm dead serious!" Quatre began to laugh at her. "Its no use, you only get cuter when you get mad." Dorothy was about to verbally cut him down when the doorbell rang.
Dorothy stomped across the room and jerked it open. A young room service boy had a cart laden with shiny brass plates, utensils and glasses in front of the door. "Im here with your breakfast." he told her. "Move out of my way." she snapped, motioning with her hand. "Why?" the bellboy asked curiously, innocence in his voice. "Because i'm going to storm out and slam the door!" the boy moved the cart. "Oh, why didn't you just say so? "He replied. Dorothy turned on her heel back to Quatre. He had sat back on the bed, his hands folded on his lap. His lips were pursed in a tight smile, trying hard not to laugh, but it was attempting to force its way out his nose. "Asshole!" she yelled at him. And with that, she executed an about-face and stormed out of the suite, slamming the door behind her, leaving Quatre on the penthouse floor in stitches, clutching his gut.
After Quatre ate his breakfast, he went downstairs and inqured the pursor on the whereabouts of Dorothy. Armed with this information, he hatched a cunning plan of attack. IT was not so much as cunning as incredibly simple. He was going to apologise.