November 2nd 1975
"Give up, Clemson!" Skipper shouted after the disappearing renegade agent, "You've already lost!" However his only answer was a burst of gunfire fire. Jumping up from his position behind a stack of crates Skipper raced down the alley in which his quarry had disappeared.
"King Clemson," Skipper heard the ex-agent muse as he raced out of the passage just in time to see Clemson duck behind a car and begin to fire back at Skipper, "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
"You aren't in you right mind," Skipper answered as he flattened himself against the wall. It was flimsy cover, but Clemson was never very good on the shooting range, "Surrender and I can get you help." That was when he noticed a civilian standing on the sidewalk behind the distracted enemy waving frantically. She proceeded through a series of hand gestures to proposition a plan of action to Skipper, who nodded his approval.
With Skipper drawing Clemson's fire and attention, the woman entered the abandoned building behind Clemson. A few seconds later there was a huge crash as a rotting desk smashed through the window, landing almost on top of the rogue agent. Immediately he spun around, firing up at the window from which the object had fallen, which was exactly the opportunity skipper needed. One shot to the hand and another to the kneecap and Skipper's mission was complete.
Skipper had just forced the wounded agent to his feet and was proceeding to hand cuff him with little care to his injuries when the civilian reappeared through the door of the abandoned building. Now that he was no longer being shot at, Skipper got a better look at her, which was all it took for Skipper's mind to go completely blank.
"Um… Thanks… ma'am," Skipper finally managed to stutter as those warm brown eyes drained every coherent thought from his head, "You're beautiful… I mean, your strategy was highly effective…"
"'Glad I could help out.' She answered in a voice as rich and deep as the sea," Skipper recounted.
"Do tell us more." Private giggled like the giddy teenager he was.
"Golly, Private, I don't think words can describe such perfection," Skipper swooned, "I'm not really one for poetry, but…"
"Well was she blond or brunet?" Kowalski inquired, cutting unglamorously to the point.
"White blond."
"Name?"
"Arlene."
"Eye colour?"
"Brown."
"Height?"
"I'd guess around 5' 7"."
"Dress size?"
"Well I may have forgotten to ask that, Kowalski," Skipper answered sarcastically, the questions reminding him why Kowalski's love life was a shambles. He could just imagine him seated down for a romantic dinner, the conversation solely being him inquiring into the girl's blood type.
"How about this: did you get her number?"
"Yes I did," Skipper answered, removing a folded piece of paper from his pocket, "and better still, I'm meeting her at the Cabana tomorrow evening."
"I am going to be leaving you love birds alone now," Julian giggled as he left the table.
"Yes I think that's a good idea," Skipper huffed as he finally managed to shoo the man away. As he turned back towards his date his scowl was wiped away by one smile and once again he felt as if his heart skipped more than one beat, "What were we talking about?"
"It can't be that important if you don't remember," Arlene answered.
"I guess so." Skipper replied, and the conversation drifted on from there, speaking of this and that, though Skipper did notice, though his love addled brain gave it no thought, that Arlene carefully steered clear of local politics and Penguins.
"… Don't be so paranoid." Skipper froze and his head seemed to clear as he heard the phrase. It was the way it was spoken; he'd heard it many times before from just about everyone who knew him, that instantly flooded him with guilt. It was just how Marlene had said it, with that kind of half chuckle, and the wry smile. Now that he looked at her, he had to say the similarities were uncanny. Aside from the bleached blond hair that tumbled over her shoulders like Niagara Falls she could be her sister, "Is anything wrong?"
"Arlene," Skipper answered, carefully choosing his words. This wasn't how he'd wanted the evening to end, but he couldn't lie to himself and certainly not an innocent girl, "I'm not sure I'm being fair to you."
"Sorry?" She questioned, tilting her head to the side and pursing her lips with concern. There it was again.
"Recently I broke up with someone for professional reasons, you've probably already guessed I'm not exactly a librarian," Skipper explained, "You're almost her exact likeness. Well, I think…"
"I understand." Arlene answered glancing down at her hands.
"I'd never want to harm you or be untruthful in any way," Skipper continued, "which is why I think things might not work out between the two of us."
Arlene didn't know if she should cry with joy or sadness, so instead opted to resigning herself to pure thought. Of course, the clanking and rattling of the subway didn't exactly make it the easiest place for an internal monologue, but then it also prevented her thoughts from swirling around and around until they twisted into forms that she didn't want to see. It was somewhat ironic what had happened, but at least she could stop bleaching her hair and go back to her old wardrobe.
"You owe me that talk." Marlene broke the silence that what little there was of a conversation had lapsed into.
"Marlene," Skipper sighed. She honestly almost felt guilty at how weary he looked, and how torn he seemed to be. Well, maybe a small push from her would get him onto her side, "A lot of things have happened…"
"Skipper, I am willing to tell you everything I know," Marlene countered, "after he disabled the explosives he went his own way and said I was no longer needed. I'm not going to ask you to change, I know that telling you to stop running into danger would be asking you to be someone you're not, but I just want us to stop lying to each other. I don't know what will happen, but I'd like to at least try…"
"Marlene," Skipper took the file from her hands, "Considering the circumstances I think it would be a good idea to see other people," he picked himself up from his desk walking back towards the door.
"But…"
"That's it." Skipper answered, "I think this is the cleanest way to do this," with that he walked out into the corridor, turning around at the last minute, "good afternoon ma'am." He spoke with flawless professionalism and left.
Marlene stood there, her arm still half outstretched at a 90 degree angle as it had been when Skipper took the file. Finally she lowered the arm, but made no effort to so much as move her eyes from the grey concrete wall.
"ma'am?" Rico inquired softly. Marlene remained stony and expressionless as the weapons expert walked around from where he'd been rather uncomfortably lurking behind her to a more visible position.
"I have no idea what I did wrong." Marlene spoke. Brown eyes refused to brim with tears and ruby lips remained strong and emotionless.
Marlene looked down as she felt her hand gently taken and led to the back of the room. Confused she watched as the weapons expert set up some kind of apparatus at the other end of the room faster than she could question what it was. He returned to her side of the room and pressed a small remote control with a single button into her hand. She examined it a few seconds before pressing the button.
Instantly Rico's contraption exploded into all manner of colours and shapes, the wall looking like a miniature fireworks display, though made only up of the chemicals and explosives he had on hand.
"Take y' mind off." He explained. At this Marlene had to smile.
"Strange way of comforting a girl," Marlene commented, but she had to say there was no word she'd rather hear than kaboom. Immediately he set up another maze of chemicals and explosives, more intricate than the last and once again handed her the button. At the push of the button the wall of the room once again lit up with blue sparks, followed by a rather loud explosion. Immediately afterwards a finale of magnesium burned so brightly she had to avert her eyes.
"Kaboom?" Rico inquired.
"Have you got anything left?" Rico reached into his back pack.
"Nothin' tha' good." He replied with a shrug of the shoulders.
"Well, thanks," Marlene managed to gather together a thankful smile as she left, "You really are quite the artist with those things," She commented, though also noted the blackened patches on the wall as she gathered her coat and bag, "You know, I'd give anything," she turned around, voicing the afterthought, "If I could somehow try all this again from the beginning." She certainly had messed up.
A new wardrobe and some peroxide later, Arlene was born, which was the irony of it all. Skipper had broken off with 'Arlene' because he missed Marlene. Well, maybe she'd still get her second chance if she played her cards right.
"Are you sure you haven't seen her?" Skipper asked again, his concern apparent. So far, apart from Marlene's land lady whom he was now questioning, he'd asked everyone related to Marlene he could find, and all were clueless.
"For the last time, no I haven't," the woman who'd introduced herself as Alice snapped, "not since she slipped me this," the woman handed him a crumpled note from an overly cluttered desk from which papers either leaned precariously over the edges or were already spilled on the floor, "Since then it's always been that roommate of hers, Arlene."
Skipper read through the note. It explained that Marlene would be working nightshifts and that her roommate Arlene would be responsible for the rent and such things. It also made special mention of the fact that should a Skipper, Will Grant, Diego Garcia, Jack the Knife, Lincoln Douglas or PJ inquire as to her whereabouts that they should be stalled indefinitely. It certainly looked genuine enough but handwriting could be forged or people could be forced to write against their will.
November 3rd 1975
"Skipper?" Marlene called as she entered the empty nightclub, closing the door behind her with a loud creak. She did her best to navigate around the tables in the darkened room of which the only light source was a small skylight in the middle of the room, "Skipper?" She'd found it strange when Skipper had called her up asking to meet, and stranger still that they should meet at the vintage nightclub, the Copacabana, at ten o clock in the morning.
"You can cut the act, Arlene, if that's even your real name," skipper's voice echoed through the darkness. The lights switched on, stunning her slightly, and when she stopped blinking wildly in an attempt to adjust to the light she found herself surrounded on all sides by the team, "Now I want to know what you've done to Marlene. Lie to me, and you can talk to Rico."
"What?!" Marlene exclaimed, "What are you talking about, I'm Marlene!"
"No dice, doll," Skipper answered, "I know exactly what your game is, and it won't work."
"What game?" Marlene denied, "Look, I only started saying I was Arlene so I could have another chance!"
"A real professional," Kowalski commented, "telling a lie close enough to the truth that it will seem more realistic to the intended victim."
"Exactly," Skipper elaborated, "Marlene turned double, but your boss thought he knew my type so sent you, her cousin or something, to try again. Well it didn't work."
"'Ipper," Rico whispered, "Ah don' think she's…"
"Getting to you too, Rico?" Skipper questioned, removing a wicked looking knife from the weapons expert's backpack, "You know about my alias Jack the Knife," Skipper threatened, "The name's not for nothing. I want to know where Marlene is now, and I want to know that she's unharmed."
Marlene's eyes searched the room for an ally, but found none, not even in Private. However, a slight movement of Rico's hand, revealing three grey glass orbs, though his face said nothing, gave her hope which increased tenfold when three smoke pellets hit the ground, filling the area with thick white smoke. Marlene coughed and floundered blindly about until her wrist was grabbed and she was pulled out of the crowd by Rico and moved through a door at the back.
"Sorry ah couldn' warn y'," Rico apologised as he led her to an office area near the back where two other women waited, a blond and a greying brunet waited, "'Ipper watchin' us all."
"He's too paranoid for his own good," Lola commented, tossing Marlene bright yellow skirt like the one she wore and a dark overcoat and hat, "Rico, get out of here." She ordered, the weapons expert immediately obeying. Marlene then, as per Lola's instructions, removed her jacket and skirt replacing them with those of Lola's. The blond who'd been introduced as Miss Perky threw on Marlene's outfit immediately taking off through another exit, obviously to draw Skipper away, "You got anywhere you can hide until I can convince him you're no spy?"
"I can't really think of anywhere he doesn't…" Marlene scoured her brain for anything but the first name that popped into her head, but found none other, "Yeah, I do."
"Great," Lola read her expression, nodding concernedly, "Right, Skipper shouldn't look twice at you as long as you keep your distance; he'll just think you're me."
"Thanks Mrs Knight…"
"No time for that, get going."
"Yeah boss, she's still headed for the Consolidated Amalgamated," the Rat reported over the telephone, "she's bleached her hair too, but that dress is hers alright, cut right down to…"
"Watch your words," the other voice growled in response, "So she's really gone for him? Deserted me?!"
"Listen boss, maybe if you just talked to her, y'know, like normal…"
"Keep an eye on her. Force is the only language he understands, and nobody takes the Rat King's girl, no matter who he thinks he is."