Author's Notes, Chapter 5: I'd like to thank everyone for reviewing. It's really good to see that people actually like the story. Heiduska: Heehee. You'd better get used to action, because there's more to come... (not that I think you'll be sorry about it) WolfKeeper989: Ask and ye shall recieve. RatchetSly: I'm glad you like. I've considered trying to get something published once or twice, but I have a problem getting things finished. I often start stories and don't finish. I'm hoping will help keep me on track this time. Oh, and I'll try that with the exclamation point. Thanks for the tip! And now, on with the show...
Chapter 5
Sly awoke to a knock on his door. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, sending magenta hues streaming through his window and coloring the peeling, antiquated wallpaper to a rose tint. Everything cast long shadows as the world outside his window wound down for the day. He blinked owlishly and propped up on one elbow. Again, the knocking, more insistent this time. Sly cleared his throat and called out.
"Come in."
The door opened, revealing the small turtle Sly knew all too well.
"Something wrong, Bentz?" Sly asked, using the nickname Bentley seemed to like.
"Errr... Well, yes. We need to pull off a job tonight, so you'll need to--"
"What!" Sly asked, incredulous. "What happened to lying low while Paris is crawling with cops?"
"I know Sly, I know. I didn't want to try it now either, but we may not have a choice. I found references last night to a new algorithm being developed by Interpol. It can take the locations of crimes and determine the probable location of the criminal's base of operations. That's what I was investigating so intently when you came in last night."
"And after all the heists we've pulled off from here over time..." Sly started, making the connection.
"When they finish it, this safe-house will be a sitting duck. But we don't have the money to start another one just yet. That's where the job tonight comes in."
Sly sat all the way up. "I'm listening."
Bentley leaned against the wall. "The Hope Diamond, the world's largest blue diamond, is currently on loan from the United States' Smithsonian Institute to the Paris Museum of Natural History."
Sly smirked. "No problem there. I know that place like the back of my hand."
"Not so fast." Bentley interjected, holding up a finger. "They've stepped up security dramatically. This one won't be easy by any means."
"Always a catch, isn't there?" Sly said, sighing.
The turtle nodded, agreeing. "It would seem that way, yes. To get in, you'll have to--"
Sly waved his hand. "Whoa, whoa. Too much upfront. Give me the briefing once I'm in position."
"Alright, Sly. Murray and I will wait outside in the van while you pull off the heist. I still have our old link tap set up, so I should be able to do everything computer-related without even going inside."
With that, Bentley turned to leave. Sly called after him.
"Hey, Bentley, did you find out anything about those freaky numbers?"
Bentley turned and poked his head back in the door. "No, I haven't. I tried several possibilities, but nothing panned out. They're starting to look more and more like Cryllic gibberish."
Sly shook his head. "No, I saw the look on Carmelita's face when she retrieved them from that guy. Whatever they are, they're important. That much I know."
"I'll keep looking, but I'm not getting anywhere with them." He hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether or not to add a thought. "And... they're giving me the creeps, too. They may look like gibberish, but I have to agree that there does seem to be a purpose. Given the timing... it doesn't bode well at all."
"You suspect something?"
"I always suspect something, but no, nothing specific this time. Just a feeling that keeps creeping up."
"Alright, just be careful."
"I always am."
And Sly was alone again. He stood up and changed out of the nightshirt he wore, donning the blue jacket. He stepped in front of the dusty vanity that sat against the far wall, and tied his mask on. Admittedly, it was more of a dramatic touch than any real attempt to keep his identity a secret, as a mask like that would do little to fool anyone who later saw him without it. It had worked on Carmelita... but he had suspicions of his own about why that had worked. A smile crept onto his face, as it always did when remembering the dance. If only I'd finished it with a kiss... He quickly ran a comb through his head ruff and put on his cap, then strapped the holster he'd made for his family's legacy onto his thigh, the weight of the ancient book reassuring. A matching pair of soft-soled boots later, and he was ready. He picked up his cane by the door and headed downstairs.
Murray climbed onto patched faux-leather seat as was his custom, taking his place behind the steering wheel. Although Bentley had learned how to drive, Murray didn't feel his job was in any danger. After all, it's one thing to drive down the freeway in moderate traffic, but totally another to scream down it dodging cars with Interpol on your tail and still manage to lose them. He took out his keys, watching the fob swing and jangle among them. The sticker bearing his logo was starting to peel, revealing the words "Ban... o... Par...". He mashed the sticker back into place, recalling how long he'd had to beg Bentley to draw it on the computer and print it out. The turtle opened the rear doors and got in, as Sly opened the passenger door. The pink hippo symbol turned in the ignition, and soon the van (newly repainted silver with a cleaning company logo) trundled into the night.
All the way there, Sly felt uneasy. Even with all the protection, and the favors working for him such as the blessings of preoccupied Interpol... it didn't feel right. Somewhere, deep in his mind (or perhaps deeper than that) something told him that this was wrong. Normally, he loved the thrill of a crisp night and moving out, filled with suspense. But at the moment, all he wanted to do was run home, even though he knew they really needed the money. He was disfocused, too: a very bad sign. A lapse of concentration at the critical moment could land him behind bars. Yet his attention was being distracted by tiny little things: the type of rattle a mother was handing to a baby, a billboard advertising milk, the headlights of a car headed straight at...
"LOOK OUT!" Sly yelled as he grabbed the wheel and pulled them back into the other lane. There was a screech of tires as the van leaned heavily to the side, and the car headed for them skidded out of the way. The hippo snapped back as if from a trance, and with a supreme effort, Murray fought the van as it tried to roll when they turned back straight. Several moments later, when Sly's heartrate had slid below 180 and he had managed to regain feeling again, he turned to Murray and gave a questioning stare.
"Sorry..." rumbled the big man. "I didn't mean to zone out like that. One moment I was driving, and the next..." Sly put a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Murray. I'm feeling distracted tonight too. I don't know what it is." Murray managed a weak nod, never taking his eyes, which appeared fixed, distant, and paranoid, off of the road in front of them. This is wrong... he thought.
This is wrong... she thought. That same pair of headlights has been behind me for the past five miles. On the freeway, maybe, but in downtown Paris, making turns? Quickly, she tried to think of what to do if she was being followed. In her mind, she reviewed all of her traffic-persuit training. The trouble was that everything she knew was designed to help her close the gap, not widen it! Then she realized she was thinking wrong. She had to think how to deliberately defeat the tactics she'd been taught. That's not going to be easy... she realized. Interpol trained officers well. First, though, let's make sure they're really following me, though. That was easy enough.
She turned right at the next light, not really caring where it took her so much as the direction. For a moment, she thought she'd been mistaken, but then she saw the all-too-familiar lights again. Once more, right at the next light, once more the headlights. Well that clinches it. There is no way they'd make a U-turn in the same spot I did. I'm being followed. Suddenly, she had an epiphany. The trains! I'll head toward the North side of town, and dart behind a train. That'll keep 'em occupied. Just as quickly she realized it wouldn't work: it was very unlikely she'd find one timed just right to allow her to use it as a gate, and even so it would be insanely dangerous.
The light in front of her turned red, and she stopped, irritated at the guy in front of her. The headlights pulled up in her rearview mirror until she could see the grill emblem between them. A grim face with predatory eyes was just visible above the steering wheel. Down the crossing street, to the left, the light turned green at the next block and a flood of cars came toward the intersection. On a moment of impulse, Carmelita punched the accellerator and spun the wheel, dashing onto the sidewalk. "Let's see you catch this!" she yelled as she swerved around the car in front of her and narrowly dodged a car already in the intersection, illiciting horns and strings of curses from other cars. She floored the gas pedal, streaking away into the night with all five-hundred horses and police-grade cooling system doing their finest. She laughed as the adrenaline coursed through her veins. She looked back into her rearview mirror just in time to see the van plunge through the stream of traffic, getting clipped on the rear. Her laughter turned to horror as she saw it fishtail and the car that hit it spun out of control, slamming into a store full of people. This time it was her turn to curse as the van regained control and sped up to catch her.
She looked forward again just in time to throw on the brakes at the next redlight. Cars were screaming past, and there was no way she could pull it off again. The van headlights came closer and closer, regaining the ground lost. It was half the length of the block away from her when she realized it had no intent of slowing down! She slammed the accelerator again, dodging out into the oncoming lane and through the intersection, but not fast enough. The van smacked her trunk, sending her spinning into the oncoming lane of the traffic that did have right-of-way. She pulled out of it and dodged into what was now 'her' lane, effectively having been forced into a turn. The van was too far across the intersection to manage a turn and raced to the next light. She heard a skid even as she turned once again, doubling back the way she'd come. If I can just reach the next light or alley, I can lose them! she thought, now out of the van's line of sight for just a moment. But before the next intersection came up, she saw the headlights turn onto her street. This was a back-road near the waterfront: little traffic and almost no stoplights. It would be a flat-out run to the next point of safety, but one she could probably win in her police-modded sports car. She once again floored the gas, racing faster and faster into the night. The van struggled to keep up, but was slowly losing ground. Up ahead, she darted onto a street that would carry her back into the main of downtown. The van caught the turn and persued, but not before she'd gained a full intersection.
The lights turned red, and they waited once more, both revving engines like drag racers, seperated by scarcely a hundred meters. His light turned green five seconds before hers, and once again he was on her tail closely as she sped toward anywhere that would get her to safety. Suddenly, she saw an exit for the freeway, and decided it would buy her time to think. At least there she would be able to drive fast and gain ground. Plus, the major portion of the freeway was was circle around Paris. She could stall indefinitely if she had to. She raced on the upramp, still accellerating as she merged into the main stream of traffic.
Eat my dust! she thought as she took off like an arrow from a bow, weaving among the cars. Suddenly, the engine sputtered. Oh God... NO! she thought as the power left the pedal. Her face drained as she looked down and saw the engine temperature gauge in the red. The collision with the van must have hurt the cooling power system, installed in the front of the trunk. She turned the key again, hoping it would restart, but she didn't even hear a half-hearted whirring. She strained and turned the wheel with all her might as the power-steering was no longer assisting her. To top it all off, she saw the dreaded headlights, tinged yellow and flecked with dead insects, roaring up behind her.
The former impact had been only a love-tap as compared to this. The jar mashed her into the seat, and then she slammed forward into the steering wheel, the airbag puffing out and the noxious gasses from it burning her throat and eyes. The bright red convertable skidded off to the side, onto the emergency strip in a shower of gravels. The van came to a stop behind her. She unfastened her seatbelt and jumped out of the car, cutting her hands on the 'safety glass' but trying desperately to get away from the van. Even as the doors opened, she knew it was futile. Men in dark black chased her, yelling at her to stop with thick accents. She whirled, shock pistol drawn and fired. One of the men bent to the ground, twitching spastically, but the other was too fast. He knocked the pistol out of her hand with a well-placed kick. Carmelita punched him in the nose, and he reeled backward, but another grabbed her from behind, pulling both of her arms down and roughly shoving her to the gravels. The one that punched her grabbed her also and the two of them dragged her to the back of the van. There, they handcuffed her in full view of all the traffic. Why doesn't someone stop them? she thought as the cars whizzed by. Then, she was uncerimoniously tossed inside, where two more men pointed guns in her face and yelled at her to shut up and stay still.
"Be quiet and sit still!" yelled Murray, getting irritated at Sly more by the moment "You're making it hard to drive!"
"We're almost there!" added Bentley. "We can't turn back now."
"We can, and we will!" demanded Sly. "Look, I don't know how to explain it either, but this is just all wrong! If we try this tonight, something is going to go horribly wrong!"
"You have no scientific basis for this at all!" Bentley yelled. "We have to have that money or we're going to be found! Do you really want Carmelita sneering at you from the other side of bars?" "Don't answer that!" he quickly added, shaking his head.
Sly's face paled. "STOP THE VAN!" he yelled. Bentley looked at him, furious now. "How many..."
"STOP THE VAN!" Sly shrieked again. This time, Murray applied the brakes, and the van skidded to a halt on the emergency strip. Nearly a quarter mile behind them, there was an accident involving a very familiar red convertable.
"What is it?" Murray and Bentley asked as one, surprised at the hysterical antics of their friend. Bentley was starting to wonder if Sly was losing it.
"CARMELITA! THEY'RE KIDNAPPING HER! Murray, put it in reverse!"
