Author's notes, Chapter 2:

Heiduska - Thank you for the review. :) I recommend novelistic roleplay for expanding writing capabilities, and also reading lots of books that have the style you want to use. It will help you immensely.

Yuoofox - Good to see you read it. Thank you very very much. Please, people, don't be afraid to review.

(note: Unless someone tells me I have to, I'm not going to include a disclaimer with every chapter. There's no point, really. If you're not convinced that I'm not attempting to commit IP theft with the first one, subsequent ones won't change your mind. ;) If it is a rule, let me know and I'll fix it.)


Chapter 2

CNN - Live Coverage of the second Chernobyl Disaster

The words scrolled across the ticker-tape news header while the reporter's voice droned with the typical media less-than-heartfelt sympathy. Sly had sprawled on the couch, watching the glowing screen, dumbfounded. The television screen cast a somber, flickering light over the room that seemed to make everything silhouette.

"You mean they still RAN that thing!" he exclaimed incredulously, surprised that a nuclear plant which had already melted down once was allowed to even operate.

"All of the former USSR has been in very bad financial straits, Sly." Bentley spoke up from behind his computer. "Bad as it was, they couldn't really afford not to continue running it. Entire cities were depending on the power it generated."

Sly seemed to chew on the idea a moment, though his look of disbelief made it clear he could not accept it so readily. "Yeah, but could it really be worth all the risk?" he asked, gesturing to the screen.

Bentley tapped a few more keys, bringing up more live newsfeeds onto his monitor. The screen reflected off of his glasses, flickering just at the edge of perceptible vision. He pushed the lenses further up on his bulbous nose and looked at Sly with an expression full of regret.

"It's easy to judge such things in hindsight, Sly. It's much harder to assess that beforehand with any certainty. Besides, I'm picking up hints that there are suspicions that this was no accident."

Sly's ears perked up. "You really think?"

"Oh, they aren't saying it in so many words, to be sure, but the subtle signs are there. The careful phrasing, the politically neutral statements... they're being so overly cautious not to name any suspects that it's virtually implied that suspects do, in fact, exist."

Sly fixed him with another disbelieving stare. "But who would be stupid enough to blow up a nuclear power plant?"

"Depends on what their purpose was. Maybe they were trying to work on throwing Ukraine into disarray." He grew quiet and they both watched the TV for a long moment. "If that's the case, they certainly seem to have succeeded..." he added softly.

"What's shaking, guys?" Murray said by way of greeting as he waddled into what passed for the living room, making a beeline for the couch. Sly knew better than to stay in the way of the irrepressible hippo, and moved over to make room on the threadbare, patched cushions. Bentley was sympathetic, Sly could hardly believe the situation, but Murray was totally oblivious to the implications. As if to accentuate the point, he sat a big bowl of popcorn down on the metal TV-tray that served as an end-table and reached across Sly for the remote.

"Wrestle-mania is on!" he said by way of explanation as Sly struggled to stay out of his way. The hippo flicked the channel to 12, earning glacial stares from both the raccoon and the turtle. He immediately broke into an exasperated groan. Yet another anchorman stood in front of a green-screen with a map of the Ukraine in political colors. Superimposed on the map was an area of pulsing, unhealthy green, with a red 'X' in the center.

"Officials say that the affected rate could reach into the hundreds of thousands of square miles by the end of the day. Cities as far away as Khariv and Minsk are preparing for evacuation, and all countries bordering the Ukraine are on highest alert. Ukraine itself is, at this time, in a state of total chaos. No one has accurately measured the spread of radioactivity, but satellite mapping suggests they may have entered the jet stream, with the potential to spread them for hundreds of miles. This could be one of the worst catastrophes in the history of the USSR. Most remember the horror of the original Chernobyl disaster, and the fear clearly runs very deeply in this region."

Murray stared in shock. Though the incident had happened some hours earlier, in the late afternoon in Paris, evening in Ukraine, it was just now sinking in on the gentle giant the sheer enormity of what was happening. If the figures alone hadn't been enough to convince, the footage from the media crews on relief choppers was. Hundreds of square miles of forest were charred. The radiation had burned them as if physically, and it gave the appearance of a firestorm having swept through, even though the actual blast had barely left the grounds of the nuclear facility. The desolation was worthy of T.S. Elliot, the somber, morbid feelings accompanying it, the province of Dickens. It weighed on the heart, such a viscerally unnatural scene, and Bentley silently swore at the double-edged sword of technology that now fed such sights in real-time HD quality across the globe for the horrified consumption of viewers everywhere.

But it sank on the hippo like a sack of bricks, all at once. The horror, the shock, the black plastic body bags being carried out of towns to hospitals, the white contamination suits... tears began to slide down his cheeks. Without a sound, an impressive feat for one of his stature, he stood and walked to the staircase.

Sly started after him, but Bentley stopped the raccoon with a gentle hand.

"Just let him go, Sly. Murray needs a little time alone."

"But, Bentley, he really needs a friend right now."

Bentley looked at him, an old hurt showing through his concern. "You don't know everything Murray's been through. I knew him before you met us, I've seen him like this before. Just... stand back and give him some room. He'll be back soon enough."

Sly returned to the couch with a haunted look, unable to tear himself away from the television in spite of himself...


Carmelita, for her part, knew little of the actual event itself. But to say she was unaware would slight her, for she did in fact know very much of the repercussions of the event. The first inkling she'd had that something was awry was as she'd stepped in the door to her home at five-twenty-six. The phone was ringing, clamoring for her attention in a harsh tone that was impossible to ignore. Carmelita liked it that way; it made it impossible to miss an important call.

She picked up the receiver, placing the cold plastic to her ear.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!" screamed an irate chief of police. "THE WORLD'S GONE MAD, AND YOU'RE GALAVANTING ABOUT WITH NO PAGER!" Carmelita scowled. She'd deliberately turned it off. Apparently, she'd picked the wrong day.

But what truly concerned her was the deep undercurrent of barely-contained panic seeping into the angry words. Having worked with the chief for some time, she knew his tones, and this was not his normal wrath. It was as if he was using anger to cover for... for what? She had no real clue. She turned the receiver so that the earpiece was further from her ear, but the other end was still next to her mouth, and the yelling abated somewhat in volume to a tolerable, if still annoying, level. It took her several minutes to calm her employer down and assure him that she'd only been going straight home from work. Just as quickly, she launched into an attempt to pump him for information.

Strangely, he was not forthcoming in the least, but demanded that she return immediately because of some unspecified emergency. Now she had to admit her curiosity was piqued. She verbally nodded her way through the remainder of the conversation and then gathered her jacket, which she'd tossed onto the couch en route to the phone. A weary sigh escaped her muzzle as she locked the front door and made her way back down the walk to her bright red convertible, which hadn't even had time for the engine to go cold. Moments later, she was driving back toward her workplace, and trying very hard to ignore the tingling sensation in her spine from the subconscious red-flags the emergency telephone call had raised...

It took twenty-seven minutes to reach the station, as usual. On the way, Carmelita had started to listen to the radio to see if there was something she should know, but resisted the impulse. Not that it was that difficult to resist when things kept grabbing her attention to the sidelines. If the city could be said to have a collective consciousness, then it was starting to brim over with narrowly-concealed panic. People looked alternately over their shoulders and to the skies, as if anticipating something sneaking up on them. Citizens hurried to and fro with no excess motion. Everything was hurried, as if every second might count. No one lingered, and shops were empty. The crowds were practically nonexistent, and stragglers exchanged nervous glances with her from the sidewalk. Paris was noted for it's night-life, yet here at six in the evening, it was looking more and more like a ghost town.

It was just wrong in a way that was absolutely chilling.

By the time Carmelita reached the station itself, she was on edge to a degree even she found frightening. It was a nameless fear that seemed to compound upon itself for the very fact of being anonymous. The building was old, and a bit drafty at times. It was chilly now physically, to say nothing of the emotional state of the occupancy. The only warmth seemed to come from the sense of urgency that drove everything, sending people rushing down the halls in bursts of activity. Detectives and officers were calling to each other out the doors, down the halls, asking for all kinds of security clearances and contingency plans. The more chatter, she heard, the more alarmed Carmelita became. She didn't know quite what was happening, but it was frightening.

She buttoned her jacket over her halter top and sped up as she made her way through the activity to Chief Rob's office. She opened the door and saw him in a way she'd never seen him before.

He was scared. His eyes told the whole story, even as his mouth moved, forming words to tell her what had happened.

"It seems about five minutes after you left, someone blew Chernobyl to hell." he said without preamble.

There was a leaden pause for about three seconds as the full gravity sunk in.

"Interpol suspects someone?" Carmelita said vacantly, her detective training taking over and reading the subtext where conscious thought failed her. Rob just nodded seriously.

"They don't just suspect someone. Al-Qaeda claimed responsibility about ten minutes ago on the Al-Jazeera network, through anonymous video tape as usual. But most of the world won't know about that for another fifty minutes. The United States invoked a contingency rehearsed with CNN, the BBC, the AP, and Reuters for just such an occasion, and the U.N. is to receive one hour's head notice before any announcements on developments are made public. That's to give us some small margin of head-start in managing the panic that's sure to build."

Carmelita swallowed dryly, nodding her head.

"Anything you hear through office sources is now classified indefinitely. We've got one hell of a security nightmare ahead of us, trying to assess if there is any local threat." Carmelita reflected that there was good reason to be worried. Paris had about five nuclear power plants within easy driving range. Not only did the city itself stand in danger should the terrorist organization have taken to targeting power plants, but it could possibly serve as a hub or staging ground.

"What I need you to do is start sifting through our case files, and see if we have any criminals we know about who fit the profile for Al-Qaeda sleeper agents. That's what I've got everyone doing right now. As soon as we've run a good percentage of those, then I'll start diverting our personnel to assist street forces."

Carmelita nodded and went to check out her assigned stack of case work. Rising, she headed for the door without remark.

"Carmelita..." he called to her as she opened the door "take care of yourself." She looked back and saw genuine concern on his face. She forced a sly smile that didn't quite touch her eyes. "I always do."