Author's Notes, Chapter 7:
Dark Jackal: Thank you, thank you, and again thank you. I greatly appreciate it to see people review and enjoy the story so much. Little else could motivate me in quite the same way, and I shall do my best to see that what has started will continue to live up to the opening.
inuyashlovr: Thank you. I try.
WolfKeeper989: Here ya go. Hopefully I can keep serving these up fairly frequently so that this doesn't stagnate like some of the other stories I've started.
Heiduska: Wish granted. Expect lots of action, too. These guys don't play by the rules, and have resources beyond even what Interpol has...
RatchetSly: I'm glad you like. As noted before, more action to come, and probably lots and lots of guns too.
(Try to imagine some good emoticons following those, because I'd put them there if the site wasn't constantly stripping them out.)
And in case I haven't emphasised it enough, thank you again everyone for reading and reviewing. Now, on with the show...
Chapter 7
The Cooper van pulled up to the Safehouse at an ungodly hour of the morning. Despite the temporary alliance, Sly had insisted that Carmelita not know the way to their building, even if she saw it and it's surroundings in their entirity. Once bitten, twice shy... Since they would be moving soon, he knew it wouldn't matter if she found enough of a location to track it down quickly once she got back to her office. They would be long gone by then, and not a trace would remain that could be used to follow them to their new location: Bentley would see to that.
It's easier to just give her no opportunity for betrayal at all. Keeps her from being conflicted anyway. Sly thought as the van pulled into the deeper dark of the garage. Murray shut the engine off, and the doors opened. Sly almost -- almost -- expected Carmelita to jump out and call for backup. But she got up wearily and filed out right behind he and the turtle, fatigue etched onto her face. Her ears drooped, and her eyes were ringed with dark circles that showed even beneath the firery fur. It had been a long, fruitless night for all of them, and they really wanted nothing so much as a good bed and a long sleep, even the besieged policewoman.
The garage door closed behind them and the group somberly edged around the shelves filled with mechanical equipment of the type intrinsic to garages. Bentley resumed his station at the computer with a depleted sigh, atypical of him. Rare indeed was the time that the turtle sat before a computer with anything but alert attention and anticipation, or at the very least determination. But tonight, he was mostly just frustrated. Having the object of his frustration along for the ride, and the direct cause of the thwarting of his plan to boot was doing little to improve his temprament. "I suppose we'll have to plan something else now." he said in Sly's general direction. Sly managed a smile.
"I know you'll think of something. You're good at that." The ringtail spoke, trying to inspire a spark of enthusiasm back into his friend. Bentley, encouraged a bit, smiled back.
"I always do."
"For my own sanity, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." Carmelita remarked, following the pair into what passed for the living room. As he had in the van, Sly once again noted with no small amount of concern the worry and the confusion that plauged her demeanor. It was so out-of-character for her, to be conflicted. Carmelita was nothing if not directed. Indeed, her focus was so complete, so perfect, that it routinely blinded her to other matters. Like a magnifying glass... Sly thought, realizing how easily it could destroy that which it examined. And yet, here she was, indecision plauging her steps, making her draw closer into herself and... vulnerable. For once, the seething grey that always lurked at the border of black and white had reared into a monstrosity that was beyond the reach of the law, and now it threatened to subsume her, driving her to the only point of safety.
The ever-so-grey arms that now crossed in anxiety as their owner's grey face studied her worriedly.
"You do that." Bentley quickly replied, irritation showing.
Carmelita spun, reaching for her shock pistol. Her face sparked in anger, and it was clear she had no tolerance left for the night, whatsoever.
Magnifying glass... remove the light...
Her fingers, however, closed on air. She heard a clanking sound of metal hanging on metal, and knew what she'd see even before she turned around, which made it all the more irksome to turn and find Sly's cane dangling her pistol like a pinata.
"What were we talking about trust, Sly?" She said, fuming.
"Trust and threats are not the same thing, Carmelita." Sly replied, growing angry himself. "If I can't trust you not to go waving this thing around at us while we're risking our necks to keep you out of whatever trouble you've cooked up this time, then you can take your shock pistol, badge, and little fire-engine red butt right out the door. You got it?" Much as he wanted to trust her outright, this issue had to be worked out right away if there was to be any hope of getting anywhere with her. While somewhere deep inside he was hoping that perhaps this little taste of conflict might for once push her toward an understanding of the bigger picture, blur that razor-sharp focus just enough to allow her to truly see, he also knew that the very same conflict might just as easly go the other way, strengthening her resolve. Carmelita's first instinct was to draw her gun whenever anyone didn't listen: not very conducive to teamwork.
Visions of the headlights flashing into her vision unbidden, Carmelita backed down and slumped her shoulders, though she still looked quite angry. "Alright, we'll play it your way, Cooper. Keep the pistol for now." And yet, the fire-glass can also be among the more useful survival tools a person could want... Sly waved his cane about, slinging the pistol back at her. She deftly caught it, considering it a moment in her hands before re-holstering it.
"I'm not interested in keeping it, Carm." She appeared to bristle at the new familiar. "I just want you to curtail that little habit of trying to force everything at gunpoint. Besides, you may need that next time."
Carmelita shuddered, her anger suddenly interrupted by a cold shiver.
"There won't be a next time." she said succinctly, and with a finality she did not completely believe. None of them did.
"Much as I'd like to hope so, I'd highly doubt we've seen the last of them." Bentley chimed in. The reflections of the glowing screen in his glasses made the scene seem somwhat surreal, and the ghostly light trickled and mingled among the pale blue moonlight, illuminating it in an almost disturbing way. "I'll need to speak to you at length about this tomorrow, but I have my suspicions about the identity of your attackers, and I fear they are quite the persistant type."
"Then let us hope that the Cooper Gang can give them the slip as easily as they have me." she replied, the bitterness she tried to place into it sounding forced and hollow with fear.
"I think it's time we all went to bed, Carmelita." Sly suggested, sensing the fear and exhaustion that lingered in the air, tainted the conversation and taxed the mind. "We're all a bit testy right now, and I think a good night's sleep will improve our tempraments."
Right on cue, Murray's voice bellowed from the kitchen: "WHO ATE THE LAST OF MY MILKBALLS?"
Sly sighed and almost chuckled. It was apparent this was not the first time such had happened. "You did, Murray." he said as the hippo waddled angrily into the living room. Murray slowed for a moment, and then it seemed to register on his face.
"Oh." he said simply.
"Not to be a raincloud, but where do I sleep?" Carmelita interjected. Sly stopped for a moment, caught unprepared. Caught deep in his own musings the entire evening, he hadn't thought it out that far in advance.
"I suppose you could sleep in my bed." He popped out without really thinking. Carmelita recoiled as if physically struck, blushing furiously.
"I mean you can have mine!" he ammended quickly. "I'll sleep on the couch." The vixen still looked at him as if he'd just suggested she streak under the Eiffel tower.
"No Cooper," she said in her clipped Spanish accent "I'll take the couch." She eyed the threadbare patched cushions behind Sly for the first time, despite having already been in the room several minutes, and almost took it back. But she quickly resolved herself. Besides, the bed probably wouldn't be any better anyway. she thought, noting the condition of the rest of the house.
"Suit yourself." Sly said, shrugging as he moved toward the stairwell.
Carmelita looked around. The only television sat on an old metal tray, and the plaster walls were cracked. In places, it appeared they might once have had lilac wallpaper, but it was faded and mostly gone. The window was a bit grimy, as if it hadn't been washed in ages. A picture of an older raccoon, presumably one of Sly's relatives, adorned one of the walls, along with a picture of the three friends together as younger children. The frames were worn and scratched, with signs of having been moved rapidly more than once. Somehow I expected more from someone who takes as much money as Sly does. she thought, wondering where on Earth his money did go. It certainly wasn't buying him furnishings and accomodations. I'm not quite ready to buy that you're storing your treasures in heaven, thief...
Footsteps on the stairs alerted her to Sly's return, and she turned in time to see him standing in the doorway with a blanket and pillow tucked under his arm.
"I thought you might want something besides just a bare couch." he said, handing the bedding to her.
She looked at him suspiciously for a moment. "Thank you." She said quietly, taking the blankets and tossing the pillow onto one end of the couch.
"I'm afraid I don't have anything that would work for you as a nightshirt, so I guess you'll just have to sleep in your day clothes tonight." She nodded quickly, having expected as much. "Bathroom is down the hall, last door on the right." He pointed to a dimly-lit hallway connecting to the living room.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to her.
"How did you know I sleep in a nightshirt?" she asked pointedly. Sly winced and looked at her sheepishly.
"No, on second thought, I don't want to know." She dismissed him with a waving gesture, and he made for the stairs, grateful to have been spared a stern tounge-lashing. She flopped onto the couch, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. She didn't know whether to be angry at him or flattered. Or both. Bentley had already left for bed, the computer now unattended. Murray was nowhere to be seen. Quiet descended, and sleep claimed the exhausted vixen.
Rose-tinted square beams of fading sunlight creeped across the wall before finally landing on the television screen, glinting back into Carmelita's face. She scrunched her face a few times before awakening slightly and putting up a hand to block the light. She blinked a few times and squinted, getting her bearings. It took her a moment to remember exactly where she was, but she wasn't suddenly shocked to discover herself on Sly's couch. At least, not any more than she was generally shocked about the entire experience overall, but as the fog of waking up rolled out, burned away by the last vestigal rays of Sol, she found herself not quite so... unnerved by it as she had been last night. Much as she hated to admit it, they had developed a grudging mutual admiration (though 'friendship' might be too strong a word for it).
No sooner had that thought completed than her words the night before came back. Oh, that's low. She mentally upbraided herself. Find a guy who's sweet on you and play to him to get what you want. Is that how low you've stooped, or am I misreading it? Try as she might, she couldn't quite come up with a direct answer for that, and it left a sinking feeling in her gut. He had done it to her sometimes, it was true, but she'd always felt it... beneath her.
Shuffling footsteps caused her to turn her head, and she saw Sly sleepily dismount the stairs. Taking a deep breath that was not quite a yawn, she turned and lay on her back for a moment, trying to get fully awake. She tossed back the blankets and now a full yawn took over, causing her to stretch out until her feet were over one end of the couch and her arms above her head reached over the other end. Sly, still in a nightshirt, staggered back into the living room, looking patently exhausted, except that now he held a steaming mug of what had to be coffee. Shifting to a sitting position, Carmelita wordlessly moved to let him sit down. He nodded in thanks and took the opposite end, sinking into the cushions. It was a tradition of his, every time there had been a heist or a huge job or any kind of noteworthy appearance that involved him or his friends. He would watch the evening news the next night to see the story. He never seemed to tire of it, though Bentley couldn't really understand the fascination and Murray never really registered it at all.
Carmelita started. What she had thought was his mask... was just that, his mask. Except that this one was the natural one, a darker grey fur band around his eyes that tapered off to points on the sides of his head under his ears, not a piece of soft cloth. In years of chasing him, despite all of the time they'd seen one another, she had never seen him without his mask on. It didn't change his appearance all that much, and she presumed (correctly) that it was more for show than for any real concealment. He wasn't exactly protecting his identity, after all, only his location. His fur was a bit disheveled as one might expect if one sleeps on it the wrong way. His eyes were half-lidded as he picked up the remote and flipped on the TV, mindlessly channel-surfing. It was the most candid moment she'd ever seen of him, and in that moment he somehow became more real. His manner, his appearance... he suddenly looked normal, like any other joe on the street. She turned her attention to the TV superficially, but kept sneaking sidelong glances at him. It was such a simple transformation that it was spellbinding. It seemed to awe her that she had somehow never seen him... as a person. Not just an object (and an annoyingly handsome and flirtatious one at that), but a real living, breathing person, with thoughts, hopes, ambitions, and dreams. The silence was at the same time awkward, but also comfortable in a way.
He's a living, breathing paradox. she mused. A walking contradiction, a living grey area, literally. He frowned for a moment, suddenly becoming aware of someone watching him, and turned to look at her. Only then did she realize that her 'sidelong glances' had turned into a continuous stare. He chuckled.
"What's the matter? Never seen a guy with a cup of coffee before?" he asked casually.
"Just not used to being here." she said. Sly shrugged and went back to watching television.
"Yes, well, not to be rude, but don't get used to it." Bentley said from behind them.
"Now Bentley, is that any way to treat a guest?" Sly mocked. Bentley frowned.
"You'd do well to use a little more caution, Sly. You're just lucky that we've got a plan worked out on this one already."
Carmelita raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. "However, right now, I need to borrow the good Inspector for a while." he continued, looking at Carmelita for any indication of her reaction.
"And what do you need me for, shellback?" She said, immediately on the alert. Sly lightly smacked her wrist.
"Knock it off. You're in trouble, and since you can't call up Interpol to help you out, you're gonna have to cooperate with us if we're going to figure out how to get you out of it." Sly said, becoming slightly annoyed. Carmelita glared at him, but he went back to sipping from his steaming mug and staring sleepily at the television. On the local news, there was a story about the 'big chase' of the previous night.
"Okay, okay. What do you want to know?" She relented.
"Well, most importantly I need to know some background on these" he held up the battered manilla folder the Chief had handed her before sending her out "because they are the apparent target of the attacks."
"I was the target, if you'll recall." she replied, narrowing her eyes.
"They attacked you, yes. But other than your posessions, what possible motive could they have for attacking you?"
Carmelita stopped for a second and thought.
"Y'know something, you might have a point there. When they came for me in my house, the one who slapped me wanted to know where I had the files at..." The vixen pulled a hard-backed chair up and sat down across the desk from Bentley, who was still partially hidden behind his computer.
Bentley nodded sagely. "And they searched your car for it when you were abducted the second time, even at the cost of precious getaway time."
"So... you think this is what it's all about? Why take me, the second time, then? Why not just grab the files and run?"
"Well, aside from the obvious motive of leaving fewer traces, you may have learned something, or they may have thought you learned something in the meantime that they couldn't afford to allow loose. Did any of the men who attacked you reveal anything useful in the interrogations?"
"No, I didn't have time to see that..." She trailed off, realizing where this was going. Help or no help, she wasn't quite ready to reveal that there was a leak at Interpol. Just because they were nice did not change the fact that they were still criminals, and might not hesitate to exploit the weakness.
"Which brings me to another question: why didn't you go back to Interpol instead of coming with us?"
"They thought someone might have found out some personal information on me, and would use it to track me down." Not a lie, but an omission. It was true enough, as far as it went.
"I see. Well, what exactly are the files, Inspector? That might give us some clue as to what on Earth they're after."
"I really haven't the foggiest. It's just a bunch of weird letters and number on the page, y'know?"
"Cryllic." Bentley tossed out.
"Whatever. I don't have a clue what they are."
Bentley turned the folder over in his hand and opened it, leafing through the printout pages again. The yellowed sheets of printout told him nothing more on the twentieth time he flipped through them than the first, except that something was wrong. Very wrong.
"I've been analyzing this page you dropped" he held up one sheet in particular "for a few days now, but I can't find anything about it either. Perhaps if you could enlighten me as to the context of its discovery, I could deduce something more meaningful."
Carmelita frowned for a second. "How did you...?" she began. Bentley just gave a meaningful nod toward the raccoon on the couch without even looking up.
Enraged, she stood up explosively, knocking the chair over. Sly paused in mid-sip and looked at her questioningly.
"You were following me!" she yelled, pointing an accusational finger.
Sly shrugged. "You were so intent on him that you ran right past me. Naturally, I was curious. Either you dropped a sheet or he did, but it looked important so I picked it up after you left. I actually thought you might want or need it back later."
Carmelita fumed, but said nothing. It wasn't wrong, per se, but it still irritated her.
"No one appreciates a good samaritan these days..." Sly grumbled as he returned to the news.
"Getting back to the subject, Ms. Fox?" Bentley prompted, trying to calm her. Carmelita sat back down and faced him again. "Well, these files were in Interpol. I know, I know, we should know what they were." she responded at his questioning look. "But they were in some sort of hidden room."
"A hidden room?" the turtle echoed.
"Yeah. Right under the archives. Same floor I used to work on waaay back, but there's no door to it. I've been all over that level and that room wasn't anywhere in it. At least, not so you could get to it normally."
Bentley leaned a little closer, intrigued. "That sounds important. How did you find it, let alone get inside?"
"This new guy comes up to my office with some paperwork, and I need to go get some files. So he asks me if I'd like to go with him, and I'm thinking he's not all that bad, so I go with him. We get into the records room, and we're lookin' around, when I thought I heard something. Its a few racks over, in the creepy area, and I see this door open on the floor. A trapdoor, under the carpet. I see a flashlight down inside, so I call the new guy over for backup and go in. There was a guy all dressed up in camo inside and he tried to get the jump on me, but he ran when I nearly fried him. I chased him down and found him carrying those." She motioned to the files.
"Interpol suspects them to be terrorists, then." It was more a statement than a question. "Well, this is a fairly odd place for hidden files to be stored. Did you find any other files in the room?"
"I hadn't had time to go look. I went home and got attacked, and that's how this whole nightmare started."
"I see. One last question. When you said the 'creepy' area, what did you mean?"
"Oh yeah. I hate that place. There's records there back from the Cold War. Lotsa good people got taken down in those days. I read a few of the case files once. You don't wanna know some of the things that happened back then, and we're the good guys. I'd hate to think what happened on the other side of the Iron Curtain. It just always gives me the creeps."
"It's rarely so simple as 'good guys' and 'bad guys', Ms. Fox, but your point is well taken. However, given that the files are in Cryllic, and given their hidden nature, I suspect a strong connection between the room's placement and the content of the files. These could very well be the spoils of a covert operation from the Cold War."
"Maybe so, but why bother? It's all over now, and surely they wouldn't still have the same secrets now?"
"For most things, you're right, Inspector, especially given the paranoia of the Soviet Union. This suggests, when taken with the apparent age of the documents, that whatever uses them must be something that would be relatively hard to change a code on. Something that would endure, and have use to a terrorist organization today."
Carmelita started to get an inkling of where he was going. "So, you're saying that these are some sort of... I dunno, security codes?"
Bentley shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid it's worse than that, Ms. Fox. Given the timing of the recent Cheyrnobl incident, I would have to conclude that these are arming codes for Soviet nuclear warheads."
Sly spewed coffee out onto the TV, eyes going wide as dinner plates.
"WHAT?" he demanded, leaping up from his seat.
"It certainly looks that way. Which also explains a great deal about why our black-clad friends are after it." the turtle replied.
"You're in league with those creeps?" Carmelita started, reaching for her shock pistol.
"Figure of speech, Ms. Fox." Bentley explained.
"But... why would they do that to Cherynobl, if they already had a nuke? Why draw so much attention to themselves?" Sly wondered, still very shocked. Carm, honey, I knew you had to be in trouble... but this is deeper than I'd ever imagined...
"Honestly, I don't know. They may have needed some component, as any device purchased from Russia would be showing its age by now. Or, God forbid, it may have been a test-detonation. That's really beside the point. What is important now is that we get and keep both these files and Carmelita out of their reach."
Carmelita butted in. "But if that's the case, then we have to let Interpol know at once!"
Bentley sighed. "Much as I'd like to avoid any involvement with Interpol, I'd have to agree. This is so far outside our league it's not funny. We need to return these documents to Interpol."
"No!" She blurted out. "I mean... they might not be..." The vixen blushed, realizing she'd just given away her secret.
"Might not be what?" asked Sly.
"Safe." She sighed, sagging her shoulders. "There's a leak at Interpol, and until its plugged, I can't go back safely, nor can I keep the documents there. Frankly, I can't even talk to anyone there aside from the Chief himself: everyone else is suspect. He's the one who sent me away with the documents, so I can keep them from being stolen."
Sly gave her a reassuring smile. "Well, don't worry. We'll make sure that you stay safely put, and we'll find a way to let your chief know what's going on."
"And just how do you plan to do that?" she shot back, incredulous.
"Er... Umm... " Sly switched feet uncomfortably "...Bentley will think of something."
Bentley shot Sly a look that could have vaporized steel.
Yup. This just got a whole lot more dangerous. Stay tuned!
Note: The other day, I realized that I completely botched the timeline for this. It's both before and after Sly 2, making some references to the game yet clearly featuring Murray and Bentley as they were before. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do about that. Any suggestions would be welcome. (I'd prefer not sticking 'AU' on the summary. That always seemed to me like a lazy way out unless you meant it that way from the start.)
And, as always, please R&R or C&C or whatever letters you want to substitute for feedback!
