Author's notes, Chapter 4
This one is a little shorter than I'd have liked, but my free time hasn't been all that much of late, and I really wanted to go ahead and keep the ball rolling. Please, please, please make a writer's day and review!
Note: That's supposed to be a rhetorical outburst in Carmelita's conversation with the chief, but keeps stripping out the 'extraneous' punctuation so I can't even put a question mark and an exclamation point together.
Chapter 4
Sly Cooper watched and waited as Carmelita handcuffed the man to a steam vent pipe on the roof. A thin cloud of steam churned from the metal pipe into the crisp night against the Parisian skyline, one of many in this area. She picked something up that he'd been carrying, and turned to leave.
How odd... thought the raccoon. I wonder what that was all about.
Moments earlier, he'd been sitting on a rooftop, thinking. It was something he did often, retreating to the solace that could be found scarcely twenty feet above the busy streets. Up above, the night was much quieter, and the stars shone brightly. It was a perfect place for concealment, true enough, but it was even better for long contemplation. One could hear one's own thoughts in the solitude, leaving one free to sort out life and it's many complications. Granted, many times those complications involved a firery-tempered vixen, but there were others as well. This time it was about Murray.
Sly had known Murray for a great many years. Though Murray wasn't always the sharpest tool in the shed, and admitted so even to himself, there was a depth behind those eyes that went further than he ever let on. Sly had seen it a few times, caught the barest hints, but had never fully known what it meant. Even back in the orphanage, Murray had been unreadable. His disguise was almost perfect: he managed to conceal his deepest feelings more carefully than Sly himself ever could hide his own figure. Bentley had finally outright said what Sly had suspected for a long time; Murray had been through something very traumatic early in life, and part of his 'simple' nature was a front to hide the deeper turmoil that he'd never entirely confronted. It disturbed Sly more than he wanted to admit, but that was another thing the silence was good for: it made it particularly difficult to lie to yourself. Sly hadn't said anything to Murray, never asked him about his distant past, because he'd in some measure sensed there was something dark under the surface that was better left untouched.
Sly looked up at the moon, casting a pale light down on the rooftops. And now, what do I do for him? Some friend I am, hiding from it up here alone...
His thoughts were interrupted just as suddenly as the silence. A yell pierced the air, followed by a series of particularly familiar eletrical sounds. Reflexively, Sly had dropped back where his instincts told him he was out of sight, behind an old stone chimney which was belching black smoke to ward off the night air. Scant seconds later, a figure dressed in what appeared to be military fatigues dashed so closely in front of him that he was sent reeling back for better cover. No sooner had he begun backpeddling than a vixen in a brown bomber jacket came charging past, missing him completely, firing her shock pistol wildly at the one who'd passed that way.
They say Raccoons are preoccupied with shiny things, and nothing shone more for him than the moonlight in the vixen's eyes. Small wonder, then, that he felt compelled to follow.
And now, the chase was over, his favorite inspector having been the uncontested victor in the pursuit. Normally, he'd be applauding her mentally on another capture well-done. It was a measure of both professional respect, and more than a little affection. But this time... something felt wrong. Carmelita looked nervous and apprehensive. It was as if she'd been spooked by a ghost. She gingerly stepped around her quarry as if afraid of waking him. Finally, she noted his position on her GPS unit and headed back for HQ.
Sly's curiosity was now up to the sticking point. He slipped forward as she faded back, one more shadow moving in and among the abandoned industrial complex rooftop adornments. It was a vertiable maze of metal and pipes -- the perfect place for a thief to lose a cop. In that sense, this area represented one of the safer ones for him to pick to frequent. He silently glided among the tangled metal tubing, under the water tower and around the smokestacks. Finally, making certain that no Interpol was near, he slipped around and examined the man who'd been chained to the pipe. Sly didn't want to judge, but this was something right out of a political thriller novel. The man looked every bit the archetypical terrorist. Of course, it could have been something else, but the timing was too convenient.
But what would he hope to accomplish out here? There's nothing worth even hitting out this way. All the real targets are back toward the main city district.
He started to sit down to think some more, when something caught his eye. A breeze was slowly brushing through the area, and a piece of paper was rolling along the street below. That in and of itself wasn't anything exceptional, but this piece looked... different. Something about it was nagging his subconscious, pulling at the corner of his mind. It looked out of place against all of the other junk and litter lining the street, like it wasn't dirty enough to fit in. It looked like it had just been dropped...
Then he remembered the folder and it clicked.
Ah! It appears the good inspector missed a piece. Perhaps now I can get some idea of what's going on...
Deftly hooking his cane on an old drainpipe, he leapt and then spiralled down to the ground, chasing a few steps after the errant sheet before finally snatching it. He looked it over, but could discern nothing out of the symbols that covered it.
The same instincts told him, once more, that not only was this important, but that something very big was about to happen, no matter how small it might seem at the moment. Sly knew when to trust such instincts: it was what made him good at what he did. He folded the page in half, and in half again, then tucked safely next to his family's book and headed home.
Perhaps Bently can make more sense of this than I can...
The sun rose reluctantly over the Parisian skyline, casting a cautious light that filtered through the clouds as if the very star itself was nervous. Or maybe it was just the unusual quiet that accompanied it. Many places of business had given temporary leave to all their employees, so the whole city was rather hushed. Sly slipped in the second-story window, visibly fatigued. Once inside, his posture relaxed completely, and he made no further effort be silent as he trod down the stairs. Bentley, as he'd expected, was still at his computer.
Sly walked up behind the turtle and fished out the paper. Bently turned in his seat and accepted it, giving the sheet a critical eye. Sly could almost hear the gears turning already. He started to say something, but was interrupted by a cavernous yawn. Blinking a few times, Sly asked Bentley to see what he could make of it. The turtle nodded and returned to his screen. Sly needed no second bidding to loft himself to his bedroom.
Carmelita sank into the matress with an exhausted sigh, it's pillowy embrace folding around her. She pulled a wrinkled blanket over her and shut her eyes. The sunlight shone in her face, making her screw her eyes shut tighter. When that failed, she got up angrily and pulled the shades down, returning the room to darkness. Sleep claimed her before she even hit the pillow.
The vixen awoke with a start to a noise. A meaty hand clamped on her muzzle while a second hand tied it shut with duct tape. Her eyes went wide as she fully wrapped her mind around what was happening. She lashed out with an arm and caught someone in the stomach. The figure in black went down with groan. On the other side, another figured grabbed her arms and muttered something in a language she didn't understand. On the other side of the bedroom door, she heard small crashes and shuffling as someone ransacked her house. Rising, the first figure grabbed her and lifted her into a chair while the second tied her to it with more duct tape, the ripping sound as it unwound loud against the still night. Once she was secured, the two men left to assist in the search.
Several tense minutes passed. The interpol inspector silently thanked all the deities she could name that she'd still been wearing her normal outfit, rather than changing into a night gown as she frequently did. Hidden in a sheath on her right thigh was a dagger, a weapon she held in reserve for an occasion where it might be her only hope. This was looking suspiciously like such a time. Quietly, she strained and wiggled around until she could slip it free from the holster, then attacked the duct tape, shredding it in only moments. She freed her hands, and then her feet, but stopped dead still when the door flew open.
A mouse stood in the doorway, face grim. He walked forward and then motioned to the beefy figures behind him, and they left. Carmelita pushed her arms and legs back into position, praying that he wouldn't notice she'd cut them free. He stepped forward with a measured pace and cold eyes.
"Miss Fox, we need to discuss the location of some files you have taken." he said in a clipped, middle-eastern accent. He produced a knife and with a quick flicking motion of his wrist, severed the tape holding her silent.
"I will ask you once, Inspector, so pay careful attention. Where are the files?"
Carmelita spat at him. His eyes narrowed cruelly. Before she could react, he slapped her across the face, hard. She landed over sideways and he pulled the chair back up with a strength that his size effectively hid. She tasted blood in her mouth, and knew he meant business. The mouse leaned in close, until his eyes were staring right into hers, his nose almost touching.
"Where are the files?" he asked again, voice laden with steel.
Carmelita glared at him. He raised his hand to strike her again, but this time the vixen was ready. In one smooth motion she drew the dagger again and drove it into his chest, sinking it to the hilt. The mouse's eyes went wide and he gasped, unable to grasp what had just happened. Carmelita growled dangerously at him and jerked the knife back out. The interregator twitched spasmodically a few times and then crumpled softly the floor. Carmelita tossed the knife aside and grabbed her shock pistol on the nightstand. She turned and faced the door, but it was closed, and no one yet seemed to realize that the questioning had gone awry. She quickly picked up the phone on the dresser and dialed in the emergency code, then left it hanging off the hook. That would have interpol here within minutes, she knew.
Aiming her gun at the door and steeling herself, she kicked it down and then began firing at anything that moved. Several figures ran for the door, taken by surprise, and one dropped the floor, raising an automatic rifle. Carmelita dove for the floor as he fired at waist-height, covering their escape. She got up and chased them out the front door, which had been sheared off it's hinges, but arrived just in time to hear the screech of tires as a nondescript van with no license plate rocketed off into the night.
Still shaking slightly after the adrenaline rush of the moment had worn off, she stood there until the cop cars rolled up, and she was escorted quickly back to the station...
To say that Chief Rob was angry was an understatement. He screamed at the top of his lungs at a handfull of officers who had the bad fortune to be in charge of Interpol internal security. Carmelita winced more than a few times, and she was sitting outside the door. She could only imagine the emotions of the ones on the other side. She'd been chewed out before, but this was an order of magnitude above and beyond anything she'd ever heard the Chief dish out to anyone.
There was a slamming sound inside, and the door flew open, with several officers all but bolting out of the office. Carmelita backed up against the wall to keep from being run over as they made their hurried escapes from his wrath. She was still anxious and tense from the ordeal, and so she looked around pensively. That was how she saw the Chief sink back into his old leather swivel chair with a groan.
"Carmelita..." he said softly, the anger gone from his voice. "Come in here and close the door."
Inspector Fox did as bidden, closing the door nervously. Rob stood up and pulled down the window shade, an odd thing to do at night. She opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but he beat her to the punch.
"I'm really sorry, Carmelita. That shouldn't have happened." he said, and he sounded truly apologetic. "It's an embarassment to the department that we allowed this to happen to one of our finest officers." Now Carmelita was genuinely surprised. Everyone knew about the weekly chewing-out for the Cooper case. She knew she was one of the better officers they had, but to hear it from Rob was almost unbelievable.
"But..." he continued "Sad as it is, it's bound to happen again."
Carmelita shot him a quizzical look. "How so? Surely not here at the headquarters..."
"They already came here once looking for that file." he pointed out. "But that's not what concerns me." He leaned in close and lowered his voice. "There's a leak in the department, Carmelita. I don't know who, and I don't know how, but someone is giving inside information. That means you're not safe here, any more so than you were at your house."
"They could have looked me up in the phone book, Chief." she said. "I'm not exactly inconspicuous..."
"But how would they have known about the file? They knew you had it, and had it tonight. The only way they could have known that was if they had an inside source."
"The computer system?"
He shook his head. "For security reasons, I never entered it into the system. Not until we knew what we were dealing with. It looks like I was right."
Carmelita looked very nervous indeed. The safety of Interpol was something she took for granted, even with Cooper's little visits to her office. Whatever the self-titled master thief might have been, violent was not it. As such, she felt relatively secure here. The thought that it wasn't safe anymore...
"What do we do?" she asked. Clearly, Rob had something in mind.
"I'm going to track down the source of this leak very carefully." he said. Carmelita nodded.
"YOU are getting out of town." he added.
"WHAT!" She stood up, jaw open.
Rob grabbed her mouth with one hand, holding it shut, and held a finger over his lips with the other.
"QUIET!" he hissed. "Until I know more, everyone here is potentially suspect." He gave a meaningful glance at his secretary's desk, on the other side of the wall. He let go. "Keep your voice down." he admonished.
"But I can't just leave!" she protested.
"You can, and you will. I'm going to give you a monetary allowance from Interpol funds. You're also on sick leave until further notice. Now listen carefully, because I'm going to tell you how to leave. Understood?"
Carmelita nodded dumbly, unable to really grasp that it was, in fact, happening.
"Good. When I tell you, you get up and leave this office. I have the files here." He held up the folder. "We found it in your living room. Hide it under your jacket and walk to your car. Don't stop to talk to anyone, and most especially tell no one where you're going. Get in your car and drive about half an hour from here before stopping for gas. Remove the license plate from your car there, and toss it in the trunk. Make sure you have your badge in case you're stopped, but hide it at all other times.
"Go to some other major city outside French borders, but don't make up your mind until you're outside Paris, even if it means circling around a bit to get there. Talk to no one if you can absolutely help it, pay with the credit card at the gas station so you don't have to go in, and pay with cash everywhere else." Rob handed her a roll of bills and a credit card. Carmelita was starting to shake. This was all happening too fast!
"Find a hotel somewhere close to an Interpol branch, and stay there under a false name. Do not call anyone from your room. When you get there, call me from a payphone no closer than five blocks from your hotel. Stay indoors or in the car after dark, and keep your shock pistol with you at all times. If you think you're being followed, find a very large, aware crowd and stay in the middle of it until you can call for help. Try to find a shopping mall, and stay in a very visible location where numbers will help keep you safe. Call no one at the office except me, and only at my office number. I will answer the phone, speak to no one else, not even to acknowledge that you picked up." He handed the folder to Carmelita.
"Now go. Walk, don't run, and DO NOT stop by your office on the way down." She bit her lip and turned, hiding the folder under her jacket. She could not recall being more scared in her life.
"And Carmelita? ...please be careful..." he said as she reached for the doorknob.
She mechanically walked down the hall, feeling like she was in a confused whirlwind. People were still bustling about, but now it was like being in a crowd of strangers, any of whom might be waiting for a chance to get her alone behind a door... She shuddered and walked a little faster toward the elevator. Several people looked like they were about to stop and ask her how she was, but she brushed them off and kept going without stopping to talk. The halls seemed to stretch endlessly as she went, time slowing to a crawl, the very universe conspiring to keep her from getting away. After what seemed like a subjective eternity, she reached the elevator doors.
She almost jumped backwards when the gleaming chrome metal slid aside to reveal Ghazi, who had just been about to walk out.
"Oh! Inspector Fox! Are you feeling any better?" he said, his face painted with concern.
She muttered something about still being jittery.
"Ah. That I can understand. Would you prefer some company? I often find it makes it easier to relax with a good friend..." he offered.
Don't stop to talk to anyone... Chief Rob's voice played over again in her mind. And hadn't Ghazi been there when the first break-in occurred? The connection was chilling, and the fact that he was very obviously middle-eastern did little to help. She wanted to kick herself for stereotyping, but at the moment found she couldn't help it. When her life might be at stake...
"No, I'll be just fine, thank you." She said curtly, pushing past him into the elevator. He turned with a surprised look, but the doors shut just inches in front of his nose and the elevator politely chimed, effectively ending the conversation.
"It was only a suggestion..." he said in a defeated voice to no one in particular...
The doors opened again in the lobby, and Carmelita walked quickly across the polished marble, her booted footsteps echoing and making it sound even more isolated. She shivered again and pushed the panic bar on the door. It obediently swung open, and she tried to look calmer than she was as she walked to her car.
As the engine hummed to life, a second vehicle slowly rolled out of the shadows behind a dumpster, headlights off...
