The Ambush

Jeffrey had been talking about David Easton, the second in control at Symbiosis.

When Richard Brent had established Symbiosis, he liked to refer it as 'a collaborative venture' rather than a school. In fact, it incorporated some of the brightest minds in the world. It was, after all, a symbiotic venture no less. They trained and guided the students with the on-hand experts in various fields, but the students were bound by contract to surrender their research to the institution, and no one else. Patents were not allowed.

When Reddler was five, the other kids in the kindergarten were learning their ABC's; whereas she was learning about transcendental numbers and some basic physics.

It's trans-en-dent-al, Mr. Croft had said, as he taught his little daughter patiently.

'trans-un-dennal,' repeated Reddler obediently. She could hardly pronounce the word, but her brain grasped the idea very easily, and continued to do so as she learnt elementary calculus and algebra over the next few months.

By the time she was ten, Reddler Croft was deep-rooted in particle physics and higher mathematics.

When she first signed up for Symbiosis, they were stunned by her. No doubt she was a genius in physics and math, but her sense of practical engineering was tremendous. Reddler could simply look at the innards of a machine and figure out how it worked. Sensing her enormous potential, Richard Brent himself filled in on her missing fields—natural programming and IT.

Reddler, on her part was delighted with what Symbiosis had to offer. She agreed that it was a unique institution, and the classes were very interesting. For example, the students were taken out on massive scale projects all over the world. They had flown to New Zealand to understand the dynamics of waves, and had also been to the highest manned observatory in Ladakh valley in India on an astrophysics venture. Many other globe-trotting field trips followed, including Reddler's favorite, a trip to an experimental positron in Southern France for a nuclear physics seminar.

For one thing, Symbiosis respected its students greatly. They were treated and taught as equals, and even the teachers were called by their first names. No one underestimated them, but no one overlooked them either.

Reddler had signed up when she was eight, and for the next two years, her progress was rapid but smooth. Only when she was ten, did she come to know about the dark side of Symbiosis Inc.

Since most of the students were tech experts, they were paired off and sent out on their own on highly specialized field projects. Only now they were termed as field missions. They gave Reddler a chill. Most missions were easy enough, they had to assist the CIA and the various other intelligence agencies on different cases. Sometimes they were asked to 'break into' secure locations, just so that their defense flaws could be brought to light. But there were missions, where there was some tremendous risk to their lives. After narrowly escaping death on one such mission, Reddler and her then field partner Karen Shaw had approached the Symbiosis Bureau questioningly, but were very surprised to find that they simply waved it off. Angry and rebellious, she then understood the greatest setback in Symbiosis' student policy—they were expendable.

The students were given the proper training and the latest weaponry, no doubt, but Reddler's chosen field of study was so specialized that she hardly had any time for martial combat training. With only handguns to protect her and logic guiding her, she had managed to survive. Not that she would've liked to learn combat, anyway. Reddler was no good at fighting, in spite of all her intelligence. She wasn't quick with the handguns, although her aim was quite accurate. She knew that at some point, only the usual camaraderie with her field partner kept her alive.

And sometimes her field partner went very far to protect her.

Too far.

That cold fact was rammed into her more than once, and Reddler, then eleven-- older, smarter, but just as indignant-- went up to Richard Brent's office to talk about field mission safety. Instead, she was met head on by David Easton, newly posted as the Second in Control. He faced her with cold indifference, and said that since Symbiosis had given the best of both worlds to her, it was time she gave a little something back.

Even if the little something meant her life, and that of her partner.

Reddler was frustrated, but without direct communication with Brent, she was helpless.

After her 'little talk' with David Easton, the field missions became more hazardous than ever. Even missions where physical skills and combat were more significant than technical skills were entrusted to her. Before Easton had arrived, the officials went a little lenient on her, and her projects, although dangerous, were somewhat less demanding.

The exertion began to wear her down. More than once, she came home with a slashed shoulder and blood dripping down her shirt front. Somehow, she managed to stay out of the sight of her father, and when he did see her one night, she merely said that it was from the dissection of the new sample at the marine biology lab.

On every mission that Reddler was sent on, she always wondered if she would ever return back home alive. How much was needed to reimburse for the education at Symbiosis? Their lives?

David Easton seemed to think so, anyway.

What Reddler didn't know was that David Easton, like Jeffrey, was also an Ex-Foreign Legion veteran. In fact, he had even been in the same battalion as Jeffrey.

Jeffrey knew Easton to be a cruel, ruthless man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted-- even kill. No doubt he was a brilliant strategist, but in search and rescue operations, his venomous side kept popping up far too often. He was even prepared to kill off the hostages, just to save face. Under growing scrutiny, Easton finally decided to drop out of the Legion and joined MIT. There was no trace of him for several years, and then he finally emerged at Symbiosis. Jeffrey knew that with that maniac as Second in Control, there was no doubt that he would be planning to put his students at stake.

And that troubled him.

He glanced over at Reddler, who was now fairly silent. Shaking his head, he drove the Lamborghini through the front gates and parked it on the driveway. The strong, silent man had seen too many grotesque instances in his career to be scared easily. But he was fearful for this little girl. Fearful of what Easton could do to her. He hoped, as he stepped out lightly, that he was wrong.

But he was sadly mistaken.

Jeffrey Martin sat at the bottom of the ornate stairs with a glass of restina in his hand. He looked at his watch. It was one o'clock at night. Reddler was late, yet again. He thought of the state she returned in four days ago. There was a terrible gash across her ribs and her shirt was soaked in blood. He had rushed to her, but she met him with a straight face.

"You'll need help on that," he had said.

She shook her head, saying, "I'll take care of it. Don't bother. It isn't deep."

"Does it hurt?"

She smiled. "I've been worse."

He suddenly heard the front door slam. He stood up, and walked quickly to the hall. Reddler was pulling her field pack off her shoulders. Her hair was in a mess, and she looked tired. But she seemed okay. Jeffrey sighed, and leaned against the wall. He started to say something, but stopped short.

There was blood on the carpet.

He went nearer, and let out a breath. There was a bad cut on her leg, near her ankle. Her ecru trousers had been dyed red, and blood spilled on to her white sneakers.

He crouched down near her to have a better look. Reddler sat on the hall settee, her head leaning on her wall, eyes closed. Jeffrey gently untied the laces and nudged off the bloody sneaker. She made no protest.

He examined the wound for a while, and quietly fetched the first aid box.

As he was wrapping gauze on her leg, she slowly opened her eyes. She looked very, very tired. Jeffrey glanced up from his work.

"Hurts, doesn't it?"

"Yes." A pause.

"Then why do you still do it?"

"I have to," she said unblinkingly.

Jeffrey stood up to his full height. "No, you don't," he said. "You can quit."

For a moment, Reddler closed her eyes. Her features trembled, and she looked as if she was going to cry. But no tears came.

She looked at him with desperate eyes.

"I can't."

The next day, Reddler came down to breakfast looking much better. She fixed herself a sandwich and glanced over at the table. Jeffrey was bent over it, studying some large sheets of paper. She cocked her head.

"What are you studying?"

He did not glance up. "Maps," he said.

"Maps?" repeated Reddler, taking a bite of her sandwich. "What d'you use them for?"

"You should know. You're a field agent, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but we use GPS," said Reddler. "Maps seem a bit old fashioned."

Jeffrey turned to face her. "Not at all," he said, taking a sip of coffee. "They cover a large area, and they are very useful in planning field missions."

Reddler shrugged. "I don't know how to read maps. We've never been taught that. I can figure out the simple ones well enough, but not the ones you're reading, with hundreds of reference grids."

Jeffrey shook his head. That was so like Easton. He made his students reliant on technology, but never introduced them to the basics. After all, they were assumed to be geniuses.

But as Jeffrey presumed, Easton had apparently forgotten a very important fact. They were intelligent, no doubt.

But they were children.

And he had fashioned them into high-risk agents, sending them to some of the most dangerous locations on the planet. They were only goddamn children.

"So what d'you need them for anyway? You're on vacation," piped in Reddler.

Jeffrey did not reply. He turned his back on her, and resumed examining the maps.

"…aren't you?" she asked again, narrowing her eyes.

Silence.

"I asked you a question," said Reddler, a little annoyed. This man thought he could answer only when he felt like it! Reddler flared. "I said, I asked…" she repeated petulantly, but was cut short.

"I like to keep myself up to date," snapped Jeffrey.

Reddler was about to retort, when the phone rang. Jeffrey went over and picked it up.

"Croft residence," he said.

"Please put Miss Croft on the line. David Easton would like to speak with her," said a soft, female voice.

Before Jeffrey could reply, there was a hum. He heard faint chimes.

"Is it for me?" asked Reddler.

"Shh..." He motioned her to be quiet. She crossed her arms.

"I know it's for me," she said, coming towards him.

The chimes stopped abruptly, and a gruff voice spoke.

"Croft? Are you on?"

"No, Easton."

Reddler panicked. "Are you crazy? Gimme that!" She lunged for the phone, but Jeffrey warded her off.

"What?" sputtered Easton. "Then who the hell… wait a sec, I know that voice…" there was a long pause.

"Martin?"

Jeffrey gritted his teeth. "Hello, Easton."

"Jeffrey Martin…I hadn't heard of you for a long time. Where have you been, old friend?"

Jeffrey could make out Easton's efforts to keep his voice even.

"Oh, I've been traveling. A lot."

"I presume you're on business here?"

"I'm keeping house for Mr. Croft while he's away."

There was a snort. "The great Jeffrey Martin keeping house? Now if I had a nickel for…," he stopped short. "Ah hell, Martin. Good to hear of you. Anyway, tell Croft that the group assignment is due tomorrow, and she'd better get the fix fast."

"What fix?"

"She'll know."

The line went dead. Jeffrey stared at the receiver for a few seconds, and hung up.

"Friendly chap; isn't he?" he muttered under his breath.

Reddler gulped. Oh, shit. Easton's gonna kill me on my next field mission…trust Jeffrey to screw it all up…

"So what did he say?" she asked.

Jeffrey repeated the message. She said nothing, but began to stuff her field pack.

"Where are you going?"

"To get that fix," she said. She went to counter and picked up her laptop. Jeffrey noticed that she was limping slightly.

He turned to her. "Get some rest. You're hurt, remember?"

Reddler was busy getting a large black bag from the hall closet. "Assignment's not gonna get itself done," she muttered.

Jeffrey put his cup down. "I'm coming with you."

Reddler stopped, a queer look on her face. "Fine. You're driving." She tossed him the keys to the Lamborghini.

David Easton put the phone back into its cradle and leaned back in his chair. He had maniacal smile on his face, and his cold brown eyes were enough to send a chill down anyone's spine. There was a knock on his door, and in came a tall European with his hair in a ponytail. He pulled up his shades above his head and looked at Easton.

"Are we still on?" he asked. He pronounced the 'we' as 'vee'.

"Yes. Get ready. And get some backup as well. I have a feeling you'll need it," said Easton, with a wild smirk on his face.

The man turned to go.

"Vitya?" said Easton.

The man glanced back, his hand on the doorknob.

"Get a damn haircut," said Easton smugly.

The door slammed.

The Lamborghini drove into the heart of the Appalachians, skirting its wild curves. Reddler sat with her head in her hand against the window. She looked very bored.

"Can I drive?" she asked.

"No."

"May I drive?"

"No."

"You know, when I said 'you're driving', I didn't mean all the way to Honolulu."

He crinkled his eyes against the sun. "You're not driving."

"But I always drive! Always! This is so not fair!" she whined.

Jeffrey frowned. "You're thirteen, Reddler."

"You don't have to tell me how old I am! And I do have a license, if that's what's bothering you."

"A license? Is that legal?"

"Sure. All field agents have one."

Jeffrey thought for a moment. "Well, you're not doing any stunts while I'm around," he said.

"Not fair!"

"Get used to it," he said impatiently.

"That's not very polite."

Jeffrey shook his head. He just couldn't help liking this impudent little girl, who could argue with almost anyone on the planet. He watched the wind buffet her soft burgundy hair left and right. Hey, it glows red in the daylight! The warm morning sunshine shone on her pale pink face and lily-white hands. She looked like an angel with a red halo on her head. And a pout, he thought with a smile. Jeffrey suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for her.

Half an hour later, he pulled the car up to the side of the road. There was a small stretch of earth hugging the road, overlooking the steep gorge. The scenery was breathtaking. He drank in the fresh mountain air and surveyed the picture perfect view and a rather precarious drop to the leeward side of the mountain.

Reddler took out the black bag and set her GPS and the aerials in position. Watching her ply the jerry-rigged sextant and setting up the complicated mass of cables jolted him back to the present. He suddenly became aware of their deserted surroundings. A vague sense of uneasiness crept over him. They were very vulnerable out here. If someone blocked the roadway, they'd have no other way to go.

He instinctively moved over to Reddler.

"How long is this going to take?"

"Umm… I dunno," she replied somewhat distractedly, setting the chronometer on her watch.

Jeffrey looked around him. There were cables and scientific paraphernalia of all sorts lying before him.

"So… what is this fix about?"

"Oh, I have to figure out some latitude grids from the stroboscopic movements of the..." she paused, looking at his blank face. She sighed. "It's just some navigation stuff."

"I see," said Jeffrey, nodding. Navigation stuff.

Reddler went to her laptop, typed some keys and came back and waited for a few moments in silence. The chronometer beeped, and she went back to her laptop. She snapped it shut after a while, and began unhooking the aerials.

"I'm done," she said. Jeffrey nodded, rolling up the cables. He was glad. This place sure had the scenic stuff, but it made him very uncomfortable, somehow. He put them in the black bag, and frowned.

"Couldn't you have done all of this at home?"

"No, there's this thing about minimum elevation, and…it's done, anyway."

He sat on the hood of the car, waiting for Reddler to finish packing the fish-eye lens telescopic camera. Easton sure piles the gadgets on them, he observed. I wonder if he's planning something, because—

He stopped short. He heard a faint whirring sound in the distance. He jumped off the car and looked back.

It's only a car.

A dark blue Audi with tinted windows cruised down the road and disappeared down the bend. The whirring sound abruptly vanished. Jeffrey squinted, acutely aware of what was happening.

They had stopped round the bend.

His hands dug into his pockets, and he backtracked to Reddler, who was oblivious to what was going on.

"Get in the car," he said quietly.

"But I haven't fin—hey!"

Jeffrey held her arm and led her towards the car, his eyes glancing left and right. There was no one in sight. Reddler wrenched herself out of his grip.

"At least let me get my bag!" she said. "Jeez."

Reddler quickly marched back to the spot and gathered her things. She turned around, and stopped.

"Jeffrey…"

Two men were walking down the road from the bend. They came towards them, one of them sporting a menacing smile. Both of them had guns in their hands. No wonder Jeffrey made no move to escape, thought Reddler.

Jeffrey's hand disappeared under his jacket. Reddler watched him, fear knotting her stomach. His face showed no signs of fear whatsoever, only a bored smirk. She hoped he was as confident as he displayed himself. She had faced much worse situations before, but this one somehow made her feel giddy with fear.

Jeffrey raised his chin up. "Anything I can do to help, gentlemen?" his voice was polite, but he spoke to them as if they were two lowly ants. The man who answered had blond-white hair in a ponytail.

"Ay, Martin! I heard about you," he tilted his head and looked at Reddler. "Busy? Too bad."

She didn't reply. Jeffrey narrowed his eyes. "Actually, we were just leaving."

The man guffawed. "You're not going anywhere, Martin. But she is," he said. Reddler noticed that he called Martin 'Marcein'.

He took a step towards her. Instantly Jeffrey landed a deft punch on his face. His expression never changed.

"Too bad, Martin. You'll just have to go," he spat, sprawling on the ground.

Jeffrey slid into combat stance, drawing out his handgun.

"Run," he said to Reddler. "And don't turn around."

Reddler stood rooted to the spot. Her brain seemed to have stopped functioning.

"Reddler!" he barked.

Might as well do this without brains. She dropped the bag, loping into a quick run towards the bend.

"Get her!" shouted the man, clambering up. His crony immediately set pace after her.

Reddler knew that he would have no problem outrunning her. Her boots crunched on the gravel. Damn these heels…

As soon as she reached the bend, her hand dove to her waist, under her top. In a quick motion, she got her gun and cocked it.

She saw the blue Audi parked nearby. Almost reflexively she emptied a round of shots into the tires. As the car sagged with its own weight, Reddler reloaded the gun. And then she realized what a terrible mistake it had been.

He knew now that she was armed. He would be more careful.

Damn… just what I need, she groaned.

She positioned herself after a quick survey. Hugging the hillside, she waited for the man to come round the bend. An overhang of earth blocked her view, but she couldn't risk craning her neck for a better look.

The seconds ticked by. Reddler was sweating, and the gun kept slipping from her grip. At last, she slowly leaned out to take a small peek. At that moment she heard a sound under her, and as she looked down, she was yanked from her feet and thrown off the ground. Her head hit rock and she saw stars. He must have crawled over on his hands and knees, and I didn't think of looking down.

I must be getting old.

As she struggled to get her bearings she saw the man bending down to pick up her gun, and checking the magazine. He grinned. "Stupid girl. Don't bring gun if you can't use one." He had a thick accent. Definitely Russian, thought Reddler. Or Latvian. Her vision cleared, and she slowly focused on her situation. Without weapons, she was helpless. Smart talk wouldn't do the trick with someone who couldn't understand her well. And this guy looked like he had no time for the yak.

Without warning, Reddler got up and tried to run for it, but she never got any farther than a step. The Russian's strong arms held her back and pinned her to the gravel.

Reddler struggled, clawing at him, trying to break free. The man cursed an incomprehensible string of words, and for all her efforts, Reddler got a resounding whack on her head that made her eyes tear. She felt as though she were trapped in a nightmare. The man bristled, gearing up for another punch. Reddler shut her eyes, waiting for the blow to land.

But it never came. The man let go of her arms, puzzled by a shadow that fell over both of them. He started to turn, but didn't glance back more than a degree when Jeffrey slammed an elbow strike, an otoshi hiji-ate, at the base of his neck. He slumped to the ground.

Reddler realized that she had stopped breathing.

Jeffrey helped her to her feet. "Did he hurt you?"

"I did take a punch," she said, dusting her top.

"You'll survive. Let's get out of here."

"What about the other one? Did you kill him?"

Jeffrey grinned. "No, but he'll be asleep for a long time, I'm afraid."

Reddler could see the man lying spread-eagled on the roadside, mottled bruises on his forehead and chin. Still shaking, she retrieved her gun and field pack and got into the passenger's seat as fast as she could.

As they moved out to the next string of snaky roads, Jeffrey suddenly stopped. Reddler whipped out her binoculars. They could see the bend some eighty feet below them. A number of black cars had assembled at the spot, and some guys were helping the men up.

"Backup," muttered Jeffrey grimly.

But Reddler was silent, her eyes glued to her binoculars. She frantically set the magnification to maximum, and diverted the feed to her laptop. Putting them down to her lap, she crossed her arms, deep in thought. After a while, she looked up again.

"Jeffrey, drive. Now."

Without a word, he revved up the engine and the car moved out with blinding speed.

Jeffrey was worried. Reddler had been silently staring at the monitor for at least an hour. He glanced at her, and something shiny caught his eye. It was a brand new Smith&Wesson 6906 poking out from underneath her top. He remembered the shots he had heard. Reddler had probably disabled their getaway vehicle, as per her training. But he also noticed something that made him frown.

"Is that yours?" he asked, pointing to her waist.

Reddler absent-mindedly touched her gun, feeling its smooth curves. "Hmm? Yeah, it's mine."

"Bring it out."

She complied without a word, handing it to him by the barrel. He took it, and in a single fluid motion turned the safety on and handed it back.

"You could have shot yourself with that thing, you know." Reddler did not respond. Instead, she stared out of the window, deep in thought.

"We were ambushed," she said suddenly. Her voice was quiet, but angry.

"I know."

"Look at this," she said, handing him her slim laptop. Jeffrey parked the car, and looked at pictures closely. It showed three close-ups of the black backup cars, and two side shots of their assaulters.

"I know this guy," he said, tapping the screen lightly. He magnified the image two-fold, and the face of the European with long blond hair filled half of the screen. "His name is Vitya Kayakova. Ex-mafia, with quite a reputation. We've tried to stake him out a couple of times. I suppose he's in for more specialized jobs now.

"And his partner," he mused, looking at the lean, roguish face of the person who had chased Reddler. He had dirty brown hair, and a diagonal scar ran down his chin. "I'm not sure about him, but…maybe it's Demichev. Georgiy Demichev. Vitya always teams up with him. They're not very smart, but with a stash of guns, they can be quite dangerous."

"I meant the cars. Look at the cars," said Reddler.

He concentrated on them, but couldn't recognize them. He shook his head.

"That's Easton's car," she said quietly. "And the other one—the one with the bazooka mounted on it—that belongs to the Symbiosis Field Missions department. The ones on the left are ours, too. I've driven almost all of them…" She struggled for words. "Easton set me up. That asshole wants me dead."

Jeffrey's face was unresponsive for a while. Then he took a deep breath.

"No. Easton doesn't want to kill you."

"Then who does?"

"Nobody wants to kill you. That Russian fellow would have simply shot a fast double tap if he wanted you dead. No, no. Easton wants you…maybe he was planning a kidnapping, but by the looks of it, definitely not a grisly murder."

The black Jaguar skirted the slopes of the Appalachians at a modest speed. In the back seat, Georgiy Demichev sat up groggily and unfastened his seat belt.

"Uhh..." he grunted, rubbing his neck. "The next time I see that bastard, I break his neck like…like chicken!"

Vitya didn't answer. He cradled his gun in his hand and scowled at Georgiy.

"You screwed it. The boss will not be easy on you," said Georgiy.

"Reinforcements come too late. That's not my fault, is it?" snapped vitya.

Georgiy was silent, but his face was troubled.

Vitya smirked. "This is not over yet," he said. "If we don't get her, they will. She won't escape."

He narrowed his eyes at the gun.