BDP61
Nottingham had decided to take the high way this time. Going out the ventilation shaft might have been the long way, but he didn't want to wait until the crew change to leave. That meant going out through the now-empty labs, instead of the dumpster area. The halls leading to the incinerator would have a spattering of janitorial crews, each person a potential observer. No, it was better to take the time to be cautious. After all, they had all night.
In less time than one might think, he was at the top of the shaft and removing the grill that kept debris and small animals out of the air intake. Ian did a check of the area before climbing out and turning to reset the steel mesh. The wind that whipped around him was from the north and bitterly cold. Nottingham knew that a storm was coming; you could taste it in the air.
He smiled, white teeth flashing in the darkness, and began the run to Moira's apartment. The weather would work in his favor, driving the guards to whatever shelter they could find. Their patrols would probably be lax enough for him to move unchallenged through his entire route.
It never occurred to him that other people might also be taking advantage of the weather until he reached the entrance to Moira's apartment. The door was almost closed, but not quite. The latch had not caught. Nottingham froze, listening for any sound. Only the whistle of wind around the building, the television from the apartment next door, and the faint wail of a baby, coming from the floor above, graced his ears.
Nottingham pushed the door open, staying on the other side of the frame. No shots came through the door, or any weapons from Moira's chemical arsenal. He slid into the living room, booted feet sinking silently into the carpet. From here he could see a light was on in the bathroom, the door open. The kitchen light was on as well, a bottle of water sat open on the counter. That was all, no movement, no voice calling to him.
Then the smell hit him. It was subtle here, just the lightest acridity in the air, the faintest whiff of blood and offal, overlaid with gunpowder. Ian had almost missed it under the much stronger aroma of red wine that was coming from the kitchen. The scent came from the hallway, beckoning him toward the light spilling from the open door of the bathroom.
Cold air followed him down the hall, but Nottingham couldn't bring himself to turn around and close the front door. Not only might he need a speedy exit, but he'd far rather Moira come out and yell at him for heating the outside than be shot in the back if her assailants were still present.
The smell grew stronger the closer he got to the bathroom, strong enough to shriek 'death' to the more primitive aspect of Ian's mind. The reptile that coiled in his basal brain raised an interested head. For once, Nottingham did not try to fight it. He welcomed the heightened awareness that part of him possessed.
Now he could smell two different men, their acid eaten flesh, blood, and the offal from bowels that had relaxed in death. Opposite the door were small furrows where bullets had dug into the wall. The blank area in the left side suggested a body had partially blocked the rain of bullets, but there was no blood on the carpet or wall. Body armor, it had to be, which argued for a strike team.
Now he was very concerned. It would seem that Moira had been right to prepare for an assault. The old phrase 'it's not paranoia if they really are out to get you' crossed Ian's mind as he moved into the bathroom. There were two corpses on the floor; and both carried the mark of Burke's handiwork. Whatever had happened here, he'd missed it.
Ian looked around the room, trying to get a feel for what must have happened. The tub was still filled with water, a few bubbles clinging forlornly to the edge of the porcelain. A blue bath towel hung on the rack. So, at least three men entered the apartment while Moira was in the bath. Not wasting any time on modesty, she gathered whatever defense had been prepared and attacked.
Judging from the angle of the bodies, and the splatter pattern of the acid, Nottingham realized the chance Moira had taken. The assailants had come at her from two directions, pinning her in a potential crossfire. She must have been very afraid to chance an attack from so vulnerable a position. Feeling more and more concerned with each piece of evidence he encountered, Ian stepped around the bodies.
Nottingham padded on toward her bedroom, his nose telling him nothing of import, but wanting to check all the rooms anyway. Ian turned on the light and looked around. There was no sign of a struggle here, nor any evidence to suggest a search. So, Moira was their main focus. That made the possibility that they were after the data from Casca's computer highly unlikely, but did not rule out espionage entirely.
After all, Burke knew a great deal about the project, almost as much as the department heads. She certainly knew everything there was to know about the chemical side of the research, including how to reproduce the formulae used on the test subjects. Those who did not know her might make the mistake of judging her, by reason of gender, to be an easy target. They had learned otherwise tonight.
A quick check showed her window had been jimmied, the screen outside cut. Clearly at least one member of the team had entered this way, with another coming in the front. They had pinned her in the middle, much to their eternal regret. Ian checked again to see if any clothes were missing. It was foolish, as he had no idea what was in her closet on a normal basis, but he looked anyway. Nothing jumped out at him, no large gaps or empty hangers. Had they taken her when she proved to dangerous to deal with on her home turf, or had they planned to abduct Moira all along?
There had to be something he was missing, else why were there no signs of a struggle anywhere else? Why were the kitchen lights on, and the bottle of water sitting on the counter? Maybe it was from earlier? Ian strode back into the kitchen to check his theory and found the bottle was still fairly cold. This didn't make any sense.
He looked back down the hall in perplexity, his eyes stopping at the wall by the bathroom. The pristine section caused everything to click. The third man, the one hit by his teammate. With body armor, being shot at close range was very painful, but not fatal. He must have gotten up and captured Moira while her attention was elsewhere. He also must be the only one left of his team, or he wouldn't have left the others behind, at least not without stripping them of anything that might identify them or their employer.
Nottingham went back into the bathroom and checked the bodies, being careful to avoid the acid pocked areas of the floor as well as the damaged flesh. Diluted by its interaction with the environment, the acid was still strong enough to burn him as well. It was not something he wished to experience.
Ian's search yielded him two things. Firstly, the body armor and weapons were standard German military issue; secondly, one of the men smoked Dutch Masters Cigars. The faint hint of cocoa and tobacco lingered around his shirt pocket. He had missed it the first time under all the other smells, and he didn't know what good it would do him to know it, but he filed it away nonetheless.
He walked back down the hall; eyes alert for any clues Moira may have left him. Nottingham walked back into the kitchen and froze. A knife lay on the white linoleum, it's edge red-brown from drying blood. There wasn't much on it, just enough for a scratch, but the sight caused the dragon to whisper, 'She might be hurt'.
Nottingham opened himself completely to the part of himself that had before seemed so frightening, and now seemed so right. He would hunt the bastard down, and kill him for daring to take his mate. There was nowhere the fool could go that Nottingham could not find him. He smiled, and it was a very unpleasant curling of lips, as he headed out into the bitter night.
Nottingham had decided to take the high way this time. Going out the ventilation shaft might have been the long way, but he didn't want to wait until the crew change to leave. That meant going out through the now-empty labs, instead of the dumpster area. The halls leading to the incinerator would have a spattering of janitorial crews, each person a potential observer. No, it was better to take the time to be cautious. After all, they had all night.
In less time than one might think, he was at the top of the shaft and removing the grill that kept debris and small animals out of the air intake. Ian did a check of the area before climbing out and turning to reset the steel mesh. The wind that whipped around him was from the north and bitterly cold. Nottingham knew that a storm was coming; you could taste it in the air.
He smiled, white teeth flashing in the darkness, and began the run to Moira's apartment. The weather would work in his favor, driving the guards to whatever shelter they could find. Their patrols would probably be lax enough for him to move unchallenged through his entire route.
It never occurred to him that other people might also be taking advantage of the weather until he reached the entrance to Moira's apartment. The door was almost closed, but not quite. The latch had not caught. Nottingham froze, listening for any sound. Only the whistle of wind around the building, the television from the apartment next door, and the faint wail of a baby, coming from the floor above, graced his ears.
Nottingham pushed the door open, staying on the other side of the frame. No shots came through the door, or any weapons from Moira's chemical arsenal. He slid into the living room, booted feet sinking silently into the carpet. From here he could see a light was on in the bathroom, the door open. The kitchen light was on as well, a bottle of water sat open on the counter. That was all, no movement, no voice calling to him.
Then the smell hit him. It was subtle here, just the lightest acridity in the air, the faintest whiff of blood and offal, overlaid with gunpowder. Ian had almost missed it under the much stronger aroma of red wine that was coming from the kitchen. The scent came from the hallway, beckoning him toward the light spilling from the open door of the bathroom.
Cold air followed him down the hall, but Nottingham couldn't bring himself to turn around and close the front door. Not only might he need a speedy exit, but he'd far rather Moira come out and yell at him for heating the outside than be shot in the back if her assailants were still present.
The smell grew stronger the closer he got to the bathroom, strong enough to shriek 'death' to the more primitive aspect of Ian's mind. The reptile that coiled in his basal brain raised an interested head. For once, Nottingham did not try to fight it. He welcomed the heightened awareness that part of him possessed.
Now he could smell two different men, their acid eaten flesh, blood, and the offal from bowels that had relaxed in death. Opposite the door were small furrows where bullets had dug into the wall. The blank area in the left side suggested a body had partially blocked the rain of bullets, but there was no blood on the carpet or wall. Body armor, it had to be, which argued for a strike team.
Now he was very concerned. It would seem that Moira had been right to prepare for an assault. The old phrase 'it's not paranoia if they really are out to get you' crossed Ian's mind as he moved into the bathroom. There were two corpses on the floor; and both carried the mark of Burke's handiwork. Whatever had happened here, he'd missed it.
Ian looked around the room, trying to get a feel for what must have happened. The tub was still filled with water, a few bubbles clinging forlornly to the edge of the porcelain. A blue bath towel hung on the rack. So, at least three men entered the apartment while Moira was in the bath. Not wasting any time on modesty, she gathered whatever defense had been prepared and attacked.
Judging from the angle of the bodies, and the splatter pattern of the acid, Nottingham realized the chance Moira had taken. The assailants had come at her from two directions, pinning her in a potential crossfire. She must have been very afraid to chance an attack from so vulnerable a position. Feeling more and more concerned with each piece of evidence he encountered, Ian stepped around the bodies.
Nottingham padded on toward her bedroom, his nose telling him nothing of import, but wanting to check all the rooms anyway. Ian turned on the light and looked around. There was no sign of a struggle here, nor any evidence to suggest a search. So, Moira was their main focus. That made the possibility that they were after the data from Casca's computer highly unlikely, but did not rule out espionage entirely.
After all, Burke knew a great deal about the project, almost as much as the department heads. She certainly knew everything there was to know about the chemical side of the research, including how to reproduce the formulae used on the test subjects. Those who did not know her might make the mistake of judging her, by reason of gender, to be an easy target. They had learned otherwise tonight.
A quick check showed her window had been jimmied, the screen outside cut. Clearly at least one member of the team had entered this way, with another coming in the front. They had pinned her in the middle, much to their eternal regret. Ian checked again to see if any clothes were missing. It was foolish, as he had no idea what was in her closet on a normal basis, but he looked anyway. Nothing jumped out at him, no large gaps or empty hangers. Had they taken her when she proved to dangerous to deal with on her home turf, or had they planned to abduct Moira all along?
There had to be something he was missing, else why were there no signs of a struggle anywhere else? Why were the kitchen lights on, and the bottle of water sitting on the counter? Maybe it was from earlier? Ian strode back into the kitchen to check his theory and found the bottle was still fairly cold. This didn't make any sense.
He looked back down the hall in perplexity, his eyes stopping at the wall by the bathroom. The pristine section caused everything to click. The third man, the one hit by his teammate. With body armor, being shot at close range was very painful, but not fatal. He must have gotten up and captured Moira while her attention was elsewhere. He also must be the only one left of his team, or he wouldn't have left the others behind, at least not without stripping them of anything that might identify them or their employer.
Nottingham went back into the bathroom and checked the bodies, being careful to avoid the acid pocked areas of the floor as well as the damaged flesh. Diluted by its interaction with the environment, the acid was still strong enough to burn him as well. It was not something he wished to experience.
Ian's search yielded him two things. Firstly, the body armor and weapons were standard German military issue; secondly, one of the men smoked Dutch Masters Cigars. The faint hint of cocoa and tobacco lingered around his shirt pocket. He had missed it the first time under all the other smells, and he didn't know what good it would do him to know it, but he filed it away nonetheless.
He walked back down the hall; eyes alert for any clues Moira may have left him. Nottingham walked back into the kitchen and froze. A knife lay on the white linoleum, it's edge red-brown from drying blood. There wasn't much on it, just enough for a scratch, but the sight caused the dragon to whisper, 'She might be hurt'.
Nottingham opened himself completely to the part of himself that had before seemed so frightening, and now seemed so right. He would hunt the bastard down, and kill him for daring to take his mate. There was nowhere the fool could go that Nottingham could not find him. He smiled, and it was a very unpleasant curling of lips, as he headed out into the bitter night.