Vengeance

by Kellen

Chapter Five

Disclaimers, summary and rating can be found in the first chapter.

A/N: Meet the bad guys…

Sergeant Marcus Clouse was a man who followed orders meticulously. He was a thin man, tall and lanky with a mop of sandy hair that shadowed a sharp-featured face. With bony hands, a face that seemed incapable of smiling, and hair that never seemed quite tame or clean, he was often given a wide berth. He looked intimidating, like the greasy scoundrel that would attack in a back alley. When he was given orders, he did all in his power to follow them through. It wasn't because he enjoyed his work, or because he was a hard worker. Marcus Clouse was, in fact, a coward and fear of repercussion kept him in line.

It made him perfect for Brigadier General Basque Grand's staff. Grand had his hand in a number of dubious enterprises, and Clouse had become the "errand boy" for a number of things. The jailbreak had been easy enough to stage, but Clouse never thought he'd be timidly weaseling his way through dim, wet streets to meet the man he'd designed the break for.

Clouse came upon the old boarding house through an alley next to it. He was supposed to meet his contact at the side door, near where the trash was dumped. Clouse shivered, pulling his overlarge coat tighter on his shoulders and cursing the heavy rain. Dawn was approaching, and Kniffen was late. Were it not for the paranoid fear that Kniffen was watching through his rifle scope, Clouse would have been long gone.

"Damn." The expletive was drawn out with a short whistle. Clouse jumped, eyes wide and a yelp caught in his throat. He spun to find the owner of the voice, breathing hard and certain the next – and last – sound he'd hear would be a rifle report.

"Over here, Sergeant." A lean man stepped out of the shadows a little further up the alley and waved. He raised an eyebrow. "Grand's getting the fidgety ones. Used to, he'd have the real soldiers."

Clouse was too preoccupied with returning his racing heart to a normal pace to even consider being affronted by the statement. "You're Kniffen?" His voice cracked, and he hastily cleared it.

The blue-eyed man raised a pale eyebrow. "Grand sent word he wanted to speak with me?"

Clouse nodded, folding his arms and hiding his shaking hands. The message he was delivering was not good news, and Kniffen had a hair trigger – figuratively and literally. "He says he wants to speak in person."

Kniffen snorted. "He has concerns then."

"About your methods, yes. He wants you to ease up."

Kniffen laughed.

Clouse folded his arms tight across his chest and attempted a glare in Kniffen's direction. His gaze settled just to the right of the man; he couldn't look him in the eyes. Clouse swallowed around a dry throat. "Grand wants to know what happened to the child. He thinks you've gone too far; that you're going to attract too much attention."

Kniffen's laugh turned uproarious. Clouse bit the inside of his lip; Grand had given explicit orders to find out about the Hughes' child, and if Clouse dared come back empty handed… He shuddered. "Kniffen! The child! What did you do with her?"

Kniffen's mouth snapped shut, and he turned a deadly glare on Clouse. "You tell Basque Grand," he said, mouth lilting in a cruel smile, "that this dog no longer acknowledges him as master."

Clouse blinked. "I can't-"

Kniffen closed the distance between them in two long strides and grabbed the lapels of Clouse's overcoat. Clouse whimpered. "You can't expect me to jump at his orders, now can you? I spent time in a cell, no thanks to him."

Clouse's hand closed over Kniffen's wrist and he jerked backward, to no avail. "We got you out! We set it up!"

"Don't think I didn't have plans of my own," Kniffen growled. "I've done Grand his last favor." He pushed Clouse backward, turning his back on the slight man. Clouse stumbled, barely staying on his feet.

Kniffen stopped at the edge of the shadows, and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, and Clouse? I don't want any more visits." He disappeared; the shadow of the door seemed to swallow all that was around him.

Clouse started trembling, and he wasn't sure if he would ever stop.

Al had been up at dawn, and Ed decided, not for the first time, that the best thing about getting his brother's body back would be that Al's clanging wouldn't wake him at ungodly hours. Ed yawned, stretching, and then pulling his red cloak closer. The rain hadn't let up much at all, but at least the lightning and thunder had slowed to a crawl. "How do you know its morning?" he asked Al sleepily. "No one's seen the sun for days."

Al chuckled as he ducked into a small restaurant. "Because the café's open for breakfast," he informed his brother.

Ed grinned. Breakfast sounded like just the thing. He followed Al inside, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. There were only a few people inside, and three of them were gathered around one table. Ed frowned. In that group was the cook. The alchemist strode to the table, unaware or uncaring of the somber atmosphere, and slapped his hands on the table. "Now how are we," he said good-naturedly, grinning from ear to ear, "supposed to order food if the cook and waitress are sitting here eating?"

There was silence for a moment, until Al broke it with a tentative "Uh, Brother…"

Ed finally looked down at the table. No one was eating. He blinked, looking back up at the people. The waitress sat next to a young woman, looking up at Ed with a glare that had Ed wanted to step back. The young woman sniffled. "Now far be it from me," the dark-haired waitress said, "to argue with the customer, but…"

"Elena." The cook laid a hand on the matronly woman's arm. "He didn't mean anything by it. You know that." He turned to Ed, brown eyes sizing up the young man before sighing. "You looking for some breakfast, kid? I'll get it started."

Ed shook his head. "Uh, no. I'll just… That is, we'll be…"

"What Brother means to say," Al broke in gently, "is that we're sorry and we'll find someplace else this morning."

Elena waved her hand. "No, no, no. Walter's right." She sighed. "You didn't mean anything, and we've had a rough night." She wiped at tears that were spilling onto her cheek. "Miss Renna's brother was killed last night. Their parents own this place, and…" Elena stopped. "Sorry to burden you with our troubles." She pulled the girl next to her – Renna, Ed presumed – closer. "Walter's right. We gotta keep moving."

"Where's her parents?"

Al straightened. "Brother! You shouldn't ask…"

Walter smiled. "Straightforward kid." He paused. "They're taking care of things; he was only found early this morning."

"Found?"

Elena looked up. "Damn it, Walter, don't be so obtuse. The boy was murdered, and we know who did it."

"We don't know that, Elena."

Ed looked up at Al and frowned. Al shrugged. It looked as if he were about to speak when Elena spoke again.

"There's been two murders, one attack and a kidnapping. There were gunshots last night and someone says they saw military running around last night."

Ed blinked. "Military?"

Walter glanced at Edward before turning a patient gaze onto Elena. "Did it ever occur to you, love, that the military may have been pursuing the suspect? Besides, you know as well as I that one of those attacks was on military personnel. Renna's brother saw that attack."

"I think," Elena said haughtily, "that man was attacked because he found out something he shouldn't have. Serves him right anyway, I say, being an officer in this military."

"Elena-"

"It makes sense," she persisted. "The man attacked was in the investigations division. You know that. I think he stumbled across something he shouldn't have."

Al shuddered, sending a metallic ringing through the café. Ed spared a glance for his brother before leaning over the table. "A man in the investigations division was attacked?"

Walter blinked. "Yeah. One of the higher ups, I've heard."

"Can you tell me his name?"

Elena stood up, brow furrowing. "I don't think you should get involved in this."

"His name."

"Please."

Walter and Elena both regarded Al as the pleading timbre in his voice faded. "I don't know his name," Walter grumbled.

"Not that we'd want to know," Elena groused. "You boys shouldn't get involved. Look what happened to Renna's family for it, and they weren't asking to be involved."

Walter watched with a troubled expression. "Breakfast, boys?"

Ed turned on his heel. "No, thanks, but the info was good." He started for the door. "C'mon, Al."

Walter's voice rang out as the door closed behind them. "You kids be careful!"

Everything was gray, but that suited Jerome Kniffen. Less people would be around. Sunlight wouldn't glint off his rifle barrel and give his position away. He peered through the scope, adjusting the heavy raincoat and hat. In this rain, keeping water out of his eyes was difficult, and he hoped that it wouldn't interfere with his aim. He ran a black gloved hand along the barrel, smiling sentimentally as his fingers caressed the nicks and scratches. Many a sandstorm in Ishvar had marked this rifle. He shifted, resting the edge of the barrel on the lip of the roof and looked down, across the courtyard, onto the hospital entrance closest to the room Maes Hughes occupied.

Kniffen was a well informed man, and two years in a jail cell had done nothing to dull his intelligence. He had made it his business to know exactly who Maes Hughes was, and that included family, co-workers and friends. The attack on Hughes had been botched spectacularly. Kniffen hadn't counted on witnesses stumbling into the fray; he finally tracked down the last witness and took care of the problem before meeting Clouse. Nor had he counted on Hughes fighting as hard as he did. He had believed that Hughes' desk job translated to laziness, and had acted accordingly. It was a stupid mistake he wanted to rectify soon.

But then, when he went after the damned man's wife, things went wrong again. The mousy woman was not supposed to have a backbone. He'd wanted to scare her, leave her mercilessly frightened and then toy with her. She was supposed to be jumping at shadows by now, not wearing a veneer of determination. The woman had guts. He had to respect that. It made things more difficult, and he hated that she was doing what she could to fight against him, but he had to respect it. She had to call the colonel. Kniffen nearly growled aloud. He hadn't known Mrs. Hughes would actually leave the premises of the hospital with the Flame Alchemist. The sniper shifted, heavy raincoat barely a help against the water that pooled under him and fell on him.

He supposed he really shouldn't be upset; plans had only changed slightly, and he really had no qualms about killing people.

But, of course, thanks to his own impetuousness, Grand would be hunting him down shortly.

Kniffen, though, had plans. He always had plans, and secondary plans. Grand never liked Colonel Mustang; he'd complained about him more than once or twice in Kniffen's presence. Perhaps, as a favor, Grand would turn his back on Kniffen for awhile longer if Kniffen removed certain irritations. It was a risk, Kniffen knew that, and not guaranteed to work. Either way, Mustang would be out of his own way; whether Grand appreciated the gesture or not would remain to be seen.

Any way he looked at it, killing the Flame Alchemist was a good thing to do.

The black car drove up to the entrance. Kniffen sighted along the scope, finger caressing the trigger. Water dripped off his hat and onto his hands. There were three in the car: Hughes' wife, Mustang and the blond man.

Mustang had to go. He was the wrench in the gears.

Kniffen watched as the doors opened, and his target stepped out of the car. He waited, peering through the rain. No need to rush this.

Mustang rounded the car while the other man helped Mrs. Hughes out. The colonel turned at something his lieutenant said, his hand resting on the door.

Kniffen's finger tightened on the trigger. Perfect shot.

TBC…

:ducks: