Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Seed Destiny or any of its characters.
A Spy to the Gods
Section Five
After we left my apartment at about some minutes to some hour. We left via, what I presumed was, Neil's car to the spaceport I had only just arrived at no more then twenty-four hours previously. We had a little while before the flight so he decided to have an early breakfast at the food court. I skipped it though, my stomach still hadn't settled, anything I put in would only come back up again. It's better that way really, like what the ZAFT PT Instructors would say if anyone started chucking up on a run; 'Better out then in.' And if that was the case, I don't put it in. I just sat on the chair opposite in silence while he scoffed a full English breakfast down his mouth.
After that we went through the usual bullshit that was security checks. There was quite a bit of commotion as all flights were grounded. The enormous television screen with a squeaky-clean news anchor told me that a there was an attack on the Aprilius City, no more then a few hours ago. Lucky for us two, we never became apart of the angry crowds, as we were taking what Neil called 'a special government flight'. Very luxurious, certainly better then the flight in. Another bonus was that there wasn't fatso or anyone else like him in sight. I was seated next to Neil, and he even let me sleep for most of it. I woke up a little while before we reached our destination. It was at that time that I noticed that we had been escorted by Laurasia class frigate for possibly the entire time. It certainly was high class. I should travel with taxpayer money more often.
Neil and me talked on and off throughout the rest of the journey. Mainly about anything other then this war, the job, and what we've been doing since we parted ways two and a half years ago. We swapped the occasional humorous story, and reminisced of our service to ZAFT in the now previous war. I skipped the in flight lunch since I was still feeling a little sick from last night. Once we arrived at our destination we were met, once again, by watertight security. A man couldn't sneeze without permission. I noticed that there seemed to be a lot more ZAFT military policeman then the regular police. Well… this is a war. After we had got through all the security check bullshit that we were subjected to, as well as dodging the growing crowds of anger, we hopped into a dark green Ford car.
'This yours?' I asked with fake interest. As I step into the car and sit on the leather seat at the passenger side.
'No, this belongs to the car pool.' He tells me as he sits in the drivers seat. I strap myself in as he starts the car. 'Hang on a sec, I've got to make a call.' He scoops out a flip top mobile phone from his pocket, dials some numbers, and places it next to his right ear. After a few seconds he speaks. 'Good afternoon sir… Yes sir, we've arrived… That's right, he's with me… We're leaving the spaceport now… The Club…? Right, I'll be there in a few minutes.' He hangs up the phone.
'That your boss?'
'Yep, just calling to tell him we're on our way. Let's get going.' He drives out of the parking lot, and eventually out of the terminal. Not before a goodbye from the watchful eyes of the ZAFT MPs with nothing better to do. We get on the motorway heading for a cluster of buildings that makes up a city, presumably where Thursgood House it located. I had never been to or seen the House where the SSC headquarters are based.
He turns off the motorway slowing the car down as he drives through a winding road. The car radio finishes a crap pop tune by some talent less fool. I pay no attention to the babble of the radio announcer. I notice that crowds of people are clustered around themselves with signs and chanting some nonsense. On one of the large screens normally used for advertising, important political messages, and new flashes, a face of a young girl appears. I follow the screen with my eyes while the car is still on the move at a steady speed. The girl has a gold star shaped clip clearly visible in her long, flowing, and bright pink hair. Her eyes are of a beautiful deep blue. The eyes spoke of a sadness, and yet a determination as well. I had seen the same look in eyes of the resistance soldiers I fought alongside with in Grozny. We pass the screen and the girl is now out of sight.
'My fellow citizens…' a soft yet clear voice speaks on the radio. 'I am Lacus Clyne. Everyone, please calm down, and listen to what I have to say. The recent events of Junius 7, the declaration of war last night, and the attacks by the Earth Alliance that came about because of it. They are all truly heartbreaking. I am just as shocked as everyone that nuclear missiles have been fired without warning. But please, everyone, please control your feelings for now. Allowing yourselves to be caught up in anger and rashly shouting your thoughts aloud will only bring forth a new war. The Supreme Council is currently trying its best to prevent that worse case scenario from happening. That is why, my fellow citizens, I beg you all. The Supreme Council and Chairman Dullindal always cherish peace, and now, they are trying their best to find a better way. Please trust your representatives, the Supreme Council and Chairman Dullindal. Please calm down for now.' She finishes.
Some speech. But was that really Lacus Clyne? Daughter of the now dead Siegel Clyne, former chairman of the Supreme Council, Lacus Clyne? The pretty girl on the screen looked very similar to the Lacus Clyne I remember from two or three years ago that I had seen on the very same screens like the one she had appeared on just now. But she had near enough completely disappeared since the end of the previous war. Why should the war bring her out of hiding so she could read some political message? Would Neil know anything about her unexpected return to the public eye? My recent ignorance of the state of the war has made me hungry for information and answers.
'Was that who I thought it was?' I asked in a way that I needed someone to pinch me to see if I was dreaming.
'Seems so. She did say her name was Lacus Clyne.' He answers flatly. Almost like he knows all about it. Well… more so then Joe Public.
'Hasn't she been missing for over two years? Well... at least here in PLANT anyway?' I inquire further.
'It seems she's back to rally support for the Chairman.' That much is obvious.
'But why would she come back now?'
'Apart from what I just said. I don't know for sure. Does it really matter though? At least she can keep the citizens calm during a crisis. And let's face it, nearly getting nuked by homicidal natural bastards could be consider a big crisis.' I wish he would stop telling me what I already know.
'I suppose so. Though I don't see why a pop star like herself should think that she can influence public opinion so easily just because she can bounce around on a stage singing about non-existent idealistic optimism that makes me want to throw up.' Saying that bring back the unpleasant moments of the night before between the toilet and myself.
'Not that it'll be any better with politicians. Besides, she has a friendly face; she makes a good "poster girl" for PLANT and the Supreme Council.' He must know something about it. He doesn't seem at all surprised by her sudden reappearance.
'Don't you know anything about women? Whenever they're friendly or complementing, they want something.' I add a joke to the conversation.
'Good point...' He agrees with laugh. He did have a good point though, as long as she can keep the citizens calm by her words alone, it doesn't matter. Apart from the engine noise the car is once again silent. My body lunges forward as the car breaks suddenly. The seatbelt slams me back into the seat.
'What the fuck?' I ask no one in particular through a short daze.
'Get out the road you fucking moron.' Neil shouts through the windscreen. I look to see a small group of what looks like protestors with their signs some saying 'Remember Junius 7' and another with 'Kill Natural'. Panic. Panic is what was happening everyone is on edge. I look left and right through the side window, passing people of mixed professions involved in heated debates on what to do. The people in front move out the way after a few blasts on the car horn
It dawns on me suddenly. We are vulnerable. I've been trained in combat and survival for all kinds of terrain, from deserts to jungles to tundra's. Further more, I fought and survived in those harsh environments against near impossible odds. But in the age of Mobile Suits, Nuclear weapons, and GENESIS, in the end the soldiers aren't needed to fight anymore, only the technology and the operators for it. It scares me. At how easy it has become for one person to push a button to kill so many people. I am a survivor but even I wouldn't be capable of escaping weapons like that. I involuntary shudder as these thoughts pass through my head. It feels cold all of a sudden. I fold my arms. As the thought passes my body calms down, and I begin to relax again. I'll try talking to Neil again to get my mind off my thoughts.
'Where are we going?' I ask. It was pretty obvious that we would be going to wherever Thursgood House was on this colony. Though the destination could be a safe house perhaps.
'I'm taking you to the Radford Club on Charlotte Street.' He explains. The Radford Club? I had heard the name before, some sort of restaurant or bar for the upper class. I think I remember Nigel talking about it once or twice during mindless conversation. I don't recall if he had said if the food and service was good though, if he had I wished I had listened to him.
'What's at the Radford club?' Food and drink, obviously. I should've asked 'who' rather then 'what'.
'My boss. I did say that you were going to meet him didn't I.' It wasn't a question. I wish he'd stop these jokes and answer my questions fully, instead he gives me half answers, and most of those are patronising euphemisms that only a parent would tell a child.
'Yes you did.' I answer. 'But why at the Radford club?' I question further.
'He wants to talk to you while he's having he has the time to eat. Also you wouldn't be allowed in Thursgood House. Security's got much tighter. You did notice all those extra guns at the spaceport just?' There he goes again.
'Of course, of course. I'm not an idiot.' I tell him. I might as well get it out of my system. 'Every time I've asked a question regarding this job or who I'm meeting, all you've given me is bollocks! Throw some info my way for fucks sake! I think I've been a pretty good sport about all this so far.'
'You know what I once read?' He asks as we stop at a red light. He's trying to change the subject, yet again.
'Don't change the subject!' I raise my anger filled voice to him.
'A line in a book I once read said "The greatest tribute to a secret agent is for someone take him for a idiot. All the secret agent has to do is to make sure he doesn't act too much like one." ' What was the point in that?
'What the fuck does that have to do with this situation?' I express to him. I'm getting worked up. I need to calm down.
'Nothing really.' What is he trying to do? What is the point? I'm sure that I was close to getting a blood clot in my brain.
'Stop the car I'm getting out.' I tell him, struggling to keep my voice calm. I need to get some air, to help calm myself.
'Relax, we're almost there.' He says. I press the switch that automatically winds the side window down. The cool rushing air blows lightly on my face. I take a breath trying to control my frustration. 'You alright?' Neil asks.
'Yeah, I'm just need to calm myself.'
'We're here.' He announces as brings the car to a slow halt next to the curb. I breathe a sigh of relief. I really didn't want to be in close proximity with Neil for any longer. I start to open the car door. 'Wait a second.'
'What?'
'He's just in there.' He gestures to the building to my left. Above the open doors is a sign saying 'The Radford Club'. The windows to the building reflected the image of the outside. It must have had the windows covered in that type of film that allowed it's occupants to see outside, but those outside couldn't see in. 'Go inside tell them your name and that you're a guest of Mr Rennie, they'll be expecting you. I'll pick you up, outside the club, in thirty minutes.'
'Got it.' I acknowledge, as I finally get out of the car and to freedom. Just before I close the door, he leans over the passenger seat.
'There's one more thing.' He says.
'And that would be?' I ask as my mind screams; 'fuck off already!'
'Don't give him any crap like you just gave me. This guy has been very busy the past week and he has had little or no sleep. See you in half an hour.' He says. I couldn't laugh, whatever sense of humour I had left had drifted out of my body during that car ride.
'Yeah, thanks for the ride.' I close the door finally. He pulls out and back into the traffic again. I walk through the open doors and into the club. It strikes me that this place looks, in a word, traditional. It didn't have the modern look that most restaurants, clubs, bars and hangouts would have. Where as those places would go for, what could be described, as the 'metallic look', this looked near enough the opposite. I walk further inside, and I eventually meet a short tubby looking man smartly dressed in a typical waiters outfit. He eyes me suspiciously. I think I should've chosen my attire to be a little more formal.
'Excuse me sir, may I help you with something?' He speaks.
'Yes I want to speak with Mr Rennie.' I tell him.
'What's your name?' He asks with a hint of sarcasm. He's speaking down to me as if I'm some lost child. Upper class prick!
'Jack Browning.'
'Ah yes, he did say that he was expecting you. Please follow me, sir' He changed his mood. One minute he's looking down on me as if I was something he'd just trodden on, to looking up as if I was the Chairman himself. He trots off on his little legs further into the restaurant; I follow behind him passing customers in formal attire feeding themselves. Some scowl at me, others snicker and whisper to each other wondering how I had gotten this far inside here. Upper class bastards! I wonder now how powerful and respected this Mr Rennie just is, to have been able to get someone like myself in a place like this. After a minute or so of following the waiter, we reach a quieter corner of the restaurant. A man at a corner table is finishing giving his order to a tall, lanky waiter.
'… And I'll have the fillet, medium rare please.' I catch the man saying.
'Very good choice sir.' The waiter says as he takes the menu off the man and walks away at a brisk pace.
'Mr Rennie? This is the gentleman whom you were expecting.' The tubby waiter says to the man.
'Ah good. Glad you made it here relatively on time.' He stands up offering his hand with a half smile. I return the favour by grasping his hand and giving it a good shake. 'Take a seat.' He gestures to the chair sitting under the table across from himself.
'Thank you.' I sit down on the carefully crafted wooden chair facing opposite him. I sit up straight, leaning back into the chair with my hands resting on my thighs. I better make a good first impression. Treat this as if it was a job interview, which it probably is.
'Do you want anything?' The man asks.
'No thank you, I'm not hungry.' I reply. Though I hadn't a thing all day, I still wasn't up for food and I still wasn't sure whether my stomach could handle anything just yet.
'Anything to drink in that case?' He insists further.
'Oh… uh… just a glass of water.' I tell the tubby waiter.
'Right away, sir.' He bows slightly, and then trots off. I take a good look at whom this man is. He looks to be in his mid to late thirties, of medium build, and close-cropped light brown hair. He's wearing a grey suit with a light blue shirt unbuttoned at the collar and a loosened grey tie. He seems very calm, relaxed, like a man in complete control of oneself and of others.
'I'm surprised they let me in here, dressed like this.' I try to see if I can get a laugh from him, to see if he has got a sense of humour of any sort.
'I suppose you attracted a bit of unwanted attention to yourself.' He says.
'Yes, I suppose I did. Neil forgot to mention that I would need to be formal.' I laugh a little.
'Oh well, don't worry about it now.' He assures me. Not the exact response I was expecting, but at least he didn't scold me for it. 'Jack Browning. You joined ZAFT at the age of sixteen in CE69. You fought in the war at first as a mobile suit pilot and then later as a Special Forces Operative, oh and correct me if I get anything wrong.' Looks like he's going through my life story.
'No, you're right so far. Carry on.'
'After the war you were recruited into the DISC as a Field Officer for their Operational Section Four for about 18 months, that was until just a two days ago, where you were decommissioned from the service?' He continues.
'Yes, that sounds about right.' I tell him as I take a quick glance around at the other tables in case anyone was eavesdropping on our conversation. There weren't many people in this part though, and those who were there were far enough away to hear us and too engrossed in their own conversations to care about ours. I suppose the only problem we would have is the bloody waiter sneaking up on us.
'I'm glad Neil suggested you. I first thought you were just another ex-Special Forces grunt, but I was impressed when I looked into your background a little more. I was puzzled over a five-month gap in CE71 where you did... nothing. The report was blank for those five months. After delving a little deeper, I found out that you were participating in operations in ZAFT's top secret special ops unit; Spectre Detachment.' This guy is good at getting his facts right. I think back to those months spent in Spectre and those varied missions I performed, the innocent people I killed in the name of ZAFT. Yes, we were forced to kill civilians when needed, for our own survival. Kill or be killed, I hate that, but it's true.
'Yeah... I suppose you know about the Wild Joker mission as well?' I ask.
'Yes.' Damn. The fewer who knew about it the better, better so it would be easier to forget. A month spent eluding an enemy on my own, spent in captivity then waiting for that dread shot that would've obliterated the Earth, myself included.
'Here are your drinks, sirs.' The tubby waiter is back and he's brought drinks with him. 'Your lager sir, and your water sir.' He says as he places each glass on the wooden table. 'You're steak should be ready in a few minutes Mr Rennie. Oh and are you sure you don't want anything Mr Browning?' He asks with a fake smile.
'No, I'm fine thank you.' I tell him for a second time. I feel the sudden need to knock this waiter's head off. Common sense wins out and I restrain myself from doing so.
'Very well, sir.' And with that we walks away once more. Now back to the conversation with this 'Mr Rennie'. I'm not convinced that is his real name. I notice that I feel more relaxed now, and less apprehensive then when I was stuck in the car with Neil, well I might get some of those questions that I asked answered from this guy. I look at the clear liquid the fills the glass, and the ice floating with their tops floating just above the edge. I take a small sip of it just to test. It's ice cool, and refreshing. I take a gulp this time, and swish it around my mouth a little. I couldn't quite get rid of the horrible taste of vomit that was still in my mouth.
'Ok, so you know pretty much everything about me. But just who are you?' I ask.
'All right, I'll level with you. I at least owe you that since I had Neil drag you from your apartment, then to the spaceport for a shuttle flight all the way here with little or no information about why you I want to speak to you.' This guy seems pretty level headed; at least he has some clue of what I've been through for the past twelve hours.
'Yes, I was getting to the point that I was going to throttle Neil.' I chuckle to myself. He joins in this time. Maybe this isn't such a bad guy after all.
'I'm the Director of Operations for the SSC.' He whispers over the table. If I heard the rumours correctly, that means he's quite high up in the Thursgood Hierarchy, reporting to directly to the Chief of the SSC, his deputy and the National Defence Committee. Neil was right though, at a time of war this guy would be working his arse off.
'And what about Neil, does he work for you?' I ask.
'He's the head of the…' he leans forward 'Special Operations Section.' He whispers. 'Codenamed, "The Caretakers".'
'Special Operations… Section?' I'd heard rumours that SSC had a sort a specialist group, that I think was similar to Spectre Detachment. Though I often wondered whether they did or not, since we used to get quite a few missions from the SSC, but they were mainly highly dangerous combat missions. But I suppose a unit like this would be useful to the SSC during the inter war period, where every mission was near enough politically sensitive.
'Yes, the name is self-explanatory, so I don't think I'd need to go into the details.' Of course he doesn't need to explain it. I'm very familiar with the job. But the missions itself is another matter, I think they would be of a much more sensitive nature for an intelligence service then for the military.
'Of course, so you intend to recruit me?' I ask. A bit of a stupid question to ask, this was after all a job interview of some form or another.
'Yes.' He replies flatly.
'Into this Special Operations Section?' That is what I should've asked straight off. Though it does seem quite obvious, that he mentioned this Special Operations Section to myself and because of my war record, it shouldn't had been a surprise. But you can never be too sure.
'Yes. Call it "The Caretakers" please?' He pauses, taking another gulp of his drink. 'You should consider it quite an honour as not many have been recruited into the Section, and even fewer have been asked to join.' He tells me as I take another sip of water from its glass. I guess that makes me popular. He follows suit and takes a sip from his pint of lager.
'I suppose you're trying to recruit as many personnel as you can because you've got to increase your resources for the war effort?' That sounded too much like a statement, rather then a question. As well as that it made me sound like a smart arse, telling him what he already knows.
'As well as that, we're trying to recruit as many of the best people before ZAFT get their hands on them and whisk them away to their Military Intelligence Bureau.'
'How's that?' I inquire as he downs a little more of the pint. His eyes show a man of concern, a serious expression on his face. His body is leaning forward, arms rested on the table, he leans a little closer.
'You see we're being screwed over by members of the National Defence Committee and ZAFT.' He whispers. Is this right?
'What do you mean?'
'There's a plot to undermine the SSC.' He says, voice still hushed and no change in his expression.
'An internal power struggle during a crisis like this?' This is getting to the point of becoming another Clancy novel.
'Some members of the National Defence Committee want an intelligence agency that works directly for them, gives them what they want, tells them what they want, and does what they want. You know that the DISC and the SSC are independent organisations and are not actually a part of the government. And with the failure of the DISC to prevent the theft of the mobile suits, it has given them all the more reason to have ZAFT take it over.' He still whispers. What point would this serve? I mean we're all in the same business at the end of the day, defence of PLANT and it's population. All this is going to do is to make that job more difficult, just because a bunch of ignorant pricks want complete control of the DISC's and SSC's roles and responsibilities, as well as having their own problems to deal with.
'Why ZAFT though?'
'They're one hundred percent loyal the Defence Committee, and they take orders direct from them since the Committee is made up of high ranking ZAFT officials.'
'I see, so they're intending to fold the DISC and SSC into ZAFT.'
'Yes, under the Director of Military Intelligence. That means all security and intelligence matters would fall under him.' A change like this shouldn't happen in war, it would jeopardise the security, unless ZAFT are already handling DISC's and SSC's responsibilities now, and they're just waiting for the go ahead to cut us out of the loop?
'What can you do about it? What are you going to do about it?' My voice is getting louder and sharper, I better be careful not shout out anything. I'm just so angry and annoyed at the bloody fools who sit at their desks, assume they know what's best for the world.
'Not much I'm afraid.' He leans back into the chair. 'The majority of the Committee is on ZAFT's side. The only thing we can do is produce results and produce them fast to convince those bloody REMFs that we are capable of doing our tasks.' Oh yes, the REMFs; Rear Echelon Mother Fucker. It's been a while since I'd head that expression, but the only people who use it are frontline soldiers to describe the guys that sit at the back and watch the fighting while we do the fighting. Could this guy have been in the frontline? Maybe, but then again that kind of soldier is rare since most just sit on a chair, whether it's at a CIC or in a mobile suit. I take another drink of the water. 'Here's something that might be of interest to you.'
'And what would that be?'
'The current Director General of the DISC, Kevin Sieren, did you know that he's purposely trying to undermine the DISC by allowing the change to take place when it eventually comes.' The bastard! I should've known it. The fucking bastard! The fucking hypocrite! Lecturing me on what he thinks is best for the service, fucking arsehole. I'm so angry, that if that fucking waiter did come back I wouldn't think twice to break his legs. I'm getting worked up, my breathing has become more rapid, I'm gritting my teeth violently to the point where they could crack any second.
'Fucking hell!' I sigh. 'I heard he was a desk jockey for the fucking ZAFT Intelligence, the bastard is a mole!' I almost shout. 'How did he get to become head of DISC after coming out straight from ZAFT?'
'Keep your voice down!' He leans across the table again and whispers sharply in my face. 'I know you're pissed off, but don't go shouting it at the top of your voice!' He finishes. I try to calm myself, make my breathing more relaxed. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I should've been more careful.
'Alright, I'm okay.'
'As I was saying.' He leans back once more. 'He's following orders from the DMI. And as for how he got the position, that was the Council's doing.'
'Figures, but what would Sieren get out of it?' It didn't make that much sense since he was now the head of the DISC, then again the Council put him there so easily, they could just as easily take the position away from him should he not fulfil their wishes.
'The top spot to become the next DMI once the current one leaves, and he gets a spot reserved for him on the Committee.' Typical fucking politician! Willing to do anything to get a place amongst the Council.
'Typical fucking REMF!' I curse under my breath.
'I also bet you'd like to know who it was that leaked the Erby shooting to Sieren?'
'You know about that as well? Is there anything you don't know?' I asked with a stern expression.
'Not much, anyway, it was your ex-girlfriend, Liz Ryan.' He informs me. My mouth is agape and I feel the colour drain from my face. I suddenly feel sick, and the need to retch. I start my deep breaths again. Not Liz.
'Liz? Can't be, why would she?' I find it difficult to get the words out. I mustn't cry, mustn't let him see my cry. I pinch the top of my nose slightly, to hide any tears that might break out. Is everyone I know involved in this plot? I feel like the idiot, the fool, the last to find out.
'She's a mole for Military Intelligence. The reason is that ZAFT want you back in Special Forces.'
'What? How?' I suddenly feel like a chess piece, a pawn to be specific. Played around the board to the liking of the chess players; the DMI, Sieren, and Liz. Maybe even by this guy.
'They sack you so, you're out on the street and jobless then they recruit you. It's just fortunate that Neil got to you first.' He says. I wasn't really listening anymore. I was in a moment where I was to myself, the thoughts clouding my mind.
'I think I'm getting more sick then I was before. But wait… who told you about Erby, there's only three people other then myself who know about what happened, who told you?'
'Your old boss, Nigel Stoke.' His expression was still the same throughout. No emotion whatsoever.
'He's working for you?' My mouth is agape again, in disbelief. Is the whole world in on this but myself?
'He doesn't work for me as such and I don't work for him. We're just very good friends. We pass each other bits and pieces of information that would be useful to each other's service. You see the heads can be a little too stubborn for their own good.' Yeah that was true. Now that he mentioned it, I can't say I'm surprised, Nigel had been a member of the intelligence community for many years. As far back as when it was still just the one service, the National Intelligence and Security Centre, before it was spilt in CE 68.
'Oh god, I know I wanted to be informed on what I'm doing here but I didn't expect it to go this deep.' I rub my head. This is too much to take in.
'The truth hurts lad.' No doubt about that. 'But in any case we're running out of time here, so I advise that you come to a decision about the job opportunity.' Back to the job talk, again. He could be playing me though. Telling me all of these lies just to get me to join the SSC. Though, he did have the point about Erby and the leaking of that to Sieren, that much was true. But it could've been Nigel instead of Liz. If Nigel really was with this guy, then he could've told Sieren, so he could fire me and have Neil and this guy pick up what was left of me.
'I don't really believe this, none of it. Why should I believe any of this? How do I know that you didn't have anything to do with my sacking so you could recruit me instead!' I snap at him. I recover myself, this time I'm going on the offensive. If he was lying throughout, I never noticed. He always wore that same hard expression. I take another sip of water.
'Keep your bloody voice down. At the moment all you have is my word, but we have the evidence.'
'Oh, then how did you come by all of this information then? How do I know you didn't just create the whole story from thin air?' I ask. I thought about what Neil had said in the car ride; 'The greatest tribute to a secret agent is for someone take him for an idiot. All the secret agent has to do is to make sure he doesn't act too much like one.' Has that been a warning of things to come?
'I don't know who exactly, since it's not my area. Look, I assure you that this is not a mind screw, and that this wasn't just some ploy to get you with us. Think about it.' His expression has changed. I think he now knows where he went wrong; he's softened his expression, into one of concern and sympathy. But he could still be lying. Then again, if the case was that my sacking was orchestrated, then he wouldn't have needed to tell me the fairy tale about the rivalry with ZAFT Intelligence.
'This job then, is it going to be a case of sending me out to so some arsehole end of the world then leaving me to die?' I ask, not wanting a repeat of my experiences two years before.
'I give you my word that won't happen, besides the mission we have lined up for you won't be too difficult and you'll be among friends, in a manner of speaking.' He takes a gulp of his pint.
'How do I know that I can trust you to get me out of there when the shit hits the fan?' The shit will always hit the fan. Like the saying goes 'No plan ever survives contact with the enemy'.
'I was in the Section too, during the war. I was abandoned on Earth just like you, after the EAF's Operation 8.8. I was there, stranded, when they decided that the GENESIS should be fired at Earth. I know what you went through. Just like you I am also the only survivor of an elite unit, I'm the remaining "Caretaker" that survived that war. And when I got back I built the Section back up again to the standard that it was when I was there. I won't allow the Section or it's people get killed so easily.' That was quite a speech. I wonder whether any of that was true. But then again, I do think he must had been on the frontlines somewhere, or if this was the case, beyond the line. But if it is true, then this guy is just like me in most ways. Or he could be making this up, just to strike the sympathy chord with me. I don't care though.
'Would I have to do any extra training for this?' I wonder. I might have to go to 'The School' again.
'Usually, but since your needed to be operational within a short time frame we don't have the time, besides you've kept reasonably active mentally and physically at the DISC. I'm sure you're good enough.' Well, that's good, I guess. 'The School' is an establishment used by the DISC, SSC, as well as some ZAFT, select and train candidates. I remember my field training was tough, PT, essays, surveillance training, more PT, more essays, weapons training, even more essays, and even more PT. The hardest part was the interrogation phase. I really didn't want to do that again. Beside the Special Ops training would probably be even tougher then that.
'Alright, I'll do it.' I made my mind up. It was probably a mistake, but I though back to my experience on Earth and captivity by Blue Cosmos. I still hadn't got my vengeance yet. I don't want to serve any master anymore. This is for myself
'Good man. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning. Neil will take you to Thursgood House to get all the paperwork over and done with by tonight, so you can be briefed tomorrow on the mission tomorrow.'
'Right.' I reply. The lanky waiter returns to the table.
'Here's is you steak Mr Rennie.' He says as he places a plate of steak and chips on the table carefully. I catch a whiff of the delicious looking meal. If my stomach didn't feel so queasy I would've ordered something myself. 'Will there be anything else, sir?' The waiter inquires.
'No, that'll do thank you.'
'Enjoy your meal, sir.' He says, as he leaves.
'Now if you don't mind I'd like to eat my meal in peace.'
'Of course, it's about time I get going.' I say as I stand up from the table, checking my watch.
'Oh, by the way, my name's Erik Kinnsman.' Leaving it a little late aren't you? 'Cheerio.' He finishes.
'Be seeing you.' I wave a farewell to Erik Kinnsman, as he is about to dig into his meal. I wonder what I've got myself into.
Endnote: Section Five completed. Sorry, this took so long, but I've been very busy with college work and residentials. But now that the summer's finally arrived, I've got more spare time to work on it.