PREDATOR IN THE DUNES

JOB 4: Prowling The Tower

Carmelita checks her shock-pistol, her gloves, her bullet-proof vest, and with a sigh of irritation puts on that stupid mask before hoisting the small pack Bentley gave her and setting out. Thanks to the others, she has a decent idea of the town's layout... and her destination.

"Unless you're sure you've been spotted, it's always better to walk," says Bentley in her ear. "Running attracts attention and draws more guards. Walking makes far less noise."

"I know this, Bentley," she mutters as she enters the streets.

"People don't look up," Bentley says a few seconds later. "Everyone looks where they are or lower, not higher. If you're trying to go unnoticed, the roofs are your best friends—and they give you a better idea of the surrounding area."

"I know, Bentley," growls Carmelita, but she jumps onto a rooftop anyway.

"Always make a note of what you can use for cover," Bentley adds moments later. "Like the sign on the roof of the chariot shop, or those barrels on the street below. If someone comes that you're not expecting, most people's eyes will just—"

"I would notice someone in those areas," growls Carmelita.

"Most people aren't the pride of Interpol," Bentley reminds her. "These are hired thugs. And... you haven't always."

Carmelita growls under her breath and makes her way to the edge of the fissure. The radio pyramid Murray dropped earlier makes a gentle humming noise, more felt than heard, as she passes by it and pulls out her binoc-u-com. At some point, she'd taped the torn picture of Sly kissing her to the inside, as well as a copy of the rights she'd read to a criminal, and an old photograph of what looks like her graduation from police academy, being congratulated by three older foxes—two men and a woman—who may be her relatives. "I'm at the start point," she says.

"Okay, Carmelita. Your assignment is to get to that tower, place the radio-transmitters in the spots I've indicated, and get out. We're all worried about Sly, but without more information, we can't do anything, understand? This is purely a stealth job."

"I've done undercover work for Interpol before," she tells Bentley. "I know how to go unnoticed."

"It's not your strong suit. Look, Carmelita, forget about anything else, if something happens to you we're sunk and Sly will have my head. So just play it safe over there?"

"Fine," Carmelita says, and puts her binoc-u-com away.

Jumping over the fissure leads to a loading screen for a new area. It picks up again near the base of The Tower, a large empty area with guards patrolling the edges in slow circles. "Easy does it here, Carmelita," says Bentley over her earpiece. "Place that first device just outside the door, then start climbing. If Sly can move freely, he'll find them—and if he can't, we may pick up some interesting bits of information."

"Where can I put it?"

"There's a vase right by the door, see? Try swapping it out for our transmitter. Put it in your pack to keep anyone from noticing."

"You're suggesting I steal—"

"If this is a false lead we'll put it back, no harm done. Just be careful."

"Fine," Carmelita whispers back, then tucks her binoc-u-com away. Dodging the guards circling the tower is child's play, not that she enjoys it; once she's placed the first device, she makes a leap onto one of the tower's many erratic metal bars, sticking out at an odd angle.

I could describe Carmelita's climb of the tower in detail. I could describe the way the wind picked up to throw off her jumps sometimes, so that she had to adjust her aim and timing; I could tell you about the banners hanging everywhere, orange with white tips, that flap in the breeze and provide indications of when it's best to jump. I could explain how she gritted her teeth and pressed her back against the wall and slid sideways, toes poking over open air, while Bentley assured her that this was something anyone could do and it didn't matter how little practice she had as long as she didn't look down. I could tell you about the haphazard ropes and, as she got higher, the way some spires had plants growing along them, with pipes placed directly above each of these odd, misshapen 'branches' to provide water.

But instead, I'm going to tell you this, from one Sly Cooper fan to another; in fact, something Bentley notes aloud to Carmelita as she climbs:

"Sly would've had a field day here."

The odd angles for jumps and spins. The uneven siding that almost screams for wallhook maneuvers. The ropes tangled with each other, stretching from one area to another in ways that beg to be climbed and slid and danced upon. The random points almost tailor-made for spire jumping, electricity buzzing through them at random intervals for no reason anyone can tell; the decorative loops providing shade from the sun that could be grabbed with a cane and swung from; the various poles that beg to be walked upon even as they support pots and drip water down to the plants within; the lazily rotating fans to duck in and out of or even grab hold of the decorative edging and go for a ride like any Ferris wheel... even Carmelita can admit this looks like a thief's playground.

It's almost a shame he isn't here to enjoy it.

What am I talking about? I'm sad he isn't here to enjoy it. I want to play on this thing!

Still, it isn't long before Carmelita's reached a walkway about halfway up the tower, a balcony circling the whole perimeter, and has to stop and contact Bentley. "I can't get any higher," she says, looking upwards. "There's just nowhere for me to stand."

"Don't worry, this should be fine," says Bentley, looking at the location. "See if you can plant it beneath that walkway, that'll get us some good readings."

Carmelita's just planted her second, and final, radio-transmitter when the door flies open with a bang. "SO!" Snarls the person above her. "The second blasted Cooper has escaped."

Carmelita eases her head out from underneath the walkway just far enough to see and freezes. Standing above her is... "Rajan," Carmelita says, barely breathing the name.

Rajan was one of the Cooper gang's old enemies. Gone is his old electric-charged staff and turban. He's changed his ceremonial vest and wide pants for robes more suited to the desert heat. A large ruby lies in a choker around his neck, glowing from within.

"Wha—him?! I haven't seen him since that stunt in the jungle with India! That was three years ago, what is he doing out of jail?"

"He's out on probation," says Carmelita, ducking back beneath. "Dr. Foxworthy signed off on it; he'd been cured of his worst criminal inclinations and was receiving monthly counseling sessions." She growls. "I'm going to have words with that uncle of mine. Last I knew, Rajan was trying to found his own flooring company."

"Well he's certainly floored us with this," says Bentley. "It must've been around the time Le Paradox was trying to rewrite history, that's how I didn't get the regular update on our old enemy. Stay out of sight."

"If he has Sly—"

"There's nothing we can do now!"

"He's a criminal—"

"If you blow your cover, Carmelita, we'll never get Sly back."

"At least everything here is going according to plan," snarls Rajan, strolling along the walkway; Carmelita presses herself against the edge beneath it and sneaks across, staying in hearing range. "Using the force of the river and fans to irrigate the spice plants is working better than I expected." He punches the wall beside him, leaving a dent. "If it weren't for those blasted gems, it would all be mine!"

"Gems?" mutters Bentley.

"This will be over soon enough," Rajan says again, seemingly trying to calm himself. "And then that Interpol idiot will pay for his disrespect!"

Then he's gone, back inside the building. "Come on back to the safe-house, Carmelita," says Bentley. "We need to work out a plan."

JOB: COMPLETE

Carmelita poses with her gun, then glances over the edge nervously and starts making her way down