(A/N: And here we are once again! I apologize for the ENORMOUS delay, but I have been having trouble with my schoolwork, and I am determined to graduate this year. So, I will persevere!)
Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous
Along the Road to Mexico City
4:58 am
It was really quite cramped in the Cooper van, between the guns and computers. Junk food littered the floor and dashboard, and the billboards mounted to the walls were filled with race standings and car magazines. Bentley and Penelope, for one, were glad to be back in the familiar vehicle. When they had gone after Shuker in Paris, they had fitted all of Bentley's original equipment into their former compartments, clearing all of Murray's magazines and boxes of parts out of where they'd been sloppily stacked. Now, with the computers booted up and running again, space was made available, only for it to be taken up once more by the team and their equipment. As they weren't able to take all the weapons on the Orca, Marty had reluctantly given the order for everyone to select their weapons carefully. Everyone had done so, taking minimal ammunition to conserve space. Their armory was now swiftly shortened to twin M4A1 Carbine assault rifles, a Mossberg shotgun, Marty's FN Minimi, Dimitri's MP5, a single RPG and everyone's handguns. The guns had all been boxed up, with a max allowance of three magazines per weapon. The containers, metallic ones this time, were used as every possible space conserving device, including tables, chairs and even desks.
Carmelita had been elected, once more, as the driver, and she took up the job with a reluctant grumble. Now, the van was cruising down the Mexican freeway south, stopping twice for bathroom and food breaks. Caroline would have compared the experience to a large family going on a road trip, but arguments here were minimal, and contact was often accepted. Dimitri, bored out of his mind, was playing a card game with Guru, alternating between poker and blackjack to try and fool the koala's aboriginal abilities. However, no matter what the iguana tried, he couldn't trick the shaman, leading to several strings of cursing, both in his odd English, and in rapid French.
'At least he's not smoking,' thought Caroline as she snuggled up against Marty. 'He would've choked us all a long time ago.' Marty had wisely gotten rid of the Stetson hat, as it seemed to cause too much trouble than really helping at all.
Though the Lab was trying to cozy up to the horse, Marty was rather preoccupied with his leg. The wound had been subjected to such an accelerated healing system, and still stung unless he was nearly doped up on painkillers. As he unwound the bandage, he carefully poked the wound, flinching as a streak of pain lanced up his leg. The stump was still raw, and he carefully reapplied the disinfectant ointment before rewrapping the bandage. He decided to leave the prosthetic off, thinking that his leg needed a rest. He leaned back against the weapon case he and Caroline were sitting by, sighing in exhaustion. The van was filled with a sour stench, a mixture of sweat, grime, gunpowder and blood. None of them had taken a shower since that fateful day in Tampico, but no one was complaining at all. There was nothing they could've done about it. The Orca's shower had long ago been torn apart, obviously by the ship's former mechanic intending to fix the piping, and there wasn't any time to stop by a motel simply for a wash.
Marty knew the first thing he'd do as soon as they left Mexico would be to tell everyone to take a long, hot shower. Bad hygiene was as much a disease causer as an open wound. For now, however, he simply applied as much deodorant as possible and hoped the air conditioner would keep them from sweating anymore than they were now.
To find a way to pass the time, he turned to Caroline and said, quietly "Have you thought about what you'll do after this? After we get out of here, the Cooper and McCoy Gangs are splitting."
Caroline smiled slightly, playing with a lock of golden hair that had come loose of her ponytail, curling it around her finger as she thought her response. Marty's eyes were drawn to that lock of hair, that lock of grimy hair that somehow managed to keep its beautiful sheen. Her voice, however, brought him back to Earth.
"Well…I don't know. I supposed I could go back to Interpol. Y'know, after I 'escape' from you guys."
She'd meant it as a joke, but Marty's head tipped to the side, obviously thinking hard about something.
Finally, he asked "Well, why haven't you, yet?"
Caroline was not expecting the question, and for a moment, she didn't have an answer. After a minute of thinking, however, she replied "I don't know. For some reason, the possibility never came to me. I supposed at first I told myself that it was to work with you until the right moment and take you down. After all, what you planned wasn't against civilians. At first, I suppose, you were an asset. Now, however, I really do relish the opportunity to actually make a difference without wading through a sea of red tape first."
She smiled at Marty, who at first looked at her, blankly, before he chuckled, lightly, his face still blank. With a smile, she reached up to his head, her fingers scratching behind his right ear at a patch of dried oil. With a nicker and a twitch, Marty's eyes closed as she rubbed the sensitive spot.
However, while his eyes were closed, Caroline's smile slowly slid off her face, replaced by another sad one of guilt.
Mexico City
4:41 am
Sly knew that dawn was imminent. The sky on the horizon had already grown pink, highlighting the grey clouds along the skyline. And once the sun was up, it would be nearly impossible to remain undetected from Interpol. The IAF had quickly searched the entire city, and Sly had nearly been discovered several times, mostly by helicopters. For some reason, the streets were bare. And Sly had an idea why.
Having taken up a position in the few remaining shadows atop a bank, Sly had purposefully put himself here to intercept the large commotion he knew was coming his way. Sirens and gunfire echoed in the distance, and several helicopters were following a single target. The roaring of engines told the Master Thief that this high speed pursuit was after a car, and he had a strong feeling that it was the rest of the team escaping from the casino. If it was them, they would need as much help as possible.
Suddenly, the subject of Interpol's attentions veered around the corner, revealing itself to be a bullet-ridden, severely thrashed black Jeep Liberty. Two figures were leaning out the windows, one firing an assault rifle, the second shooting a pistol. A third person was standing up straight from the moon roof, firing another assault rifle back. The pursuit convoy consisted of several police cruisers and APCs, all firing at the single car in front of them. The helicopters, four of them, would swerve down low over the Jeep, allowing their passengers of IAF soldiers to fire down at the vehicle. Sly knew that, under this sort of extreme pressure, the Jeep wouldn't last long. They urgently needed assistance.
Quickly, Sly stepped out onto a rope stretching over the street, decorated with several banners telling of two mayoral elections. Reaching one, the Master Thief slid down the banner, stopping himself at the end and waiting. As the Jeep approached, Sly waved wildly, glad he hadn't been holding the submachine gun before he'd run out. The figure in the moon roof seemed to get the point, however, and quickly slipped into the car. At the right moment, Sly let go, slamming into the roof of the Jeep. He would've slid off had the moon roof been closed, but as it was, he simply rolled inside. With a heavy thud, he landed square into Mikhail, and the panther let out an "Ooof!" as the breath was knocked out of his lungs.
"Sorry!" yelled Sly as he struggled to sit up. Obviously, the car looked much worse than it actually was, as every single needle on the dashboard was pushed to the far side. Murray, as he did with every vehicle, was pushing the Jeep to its limits.
"How ya doin' Sly?" yelled the hippo over his shoulder as he wrenched the wheel around.
"Fine, Murray. Where're you planning on going?"
"Somewhere there ain't any cops! Got an idea?"
Sly stood with Mikhail, both firing back at the mass of vehicles behind them as he replied "Just head for the north edge of town! There's an old steel plant that the cops haven't blocked off. We bust through there and we'll be home free!"
Volgograd, Russia
5:01 am
As she strode through the halls of the manor, her heels clicking off the floor, everyone else around her quickly saluted and moved to the side. Those who hadn't been around long enough to know this, however, were ruthlessly shoved aside, slammed into the walls or into other men. However, she showed no regret or remorse.
She was late. And Katurskay never tolerated tardiness from his employees.
Finally, the double doors loomed in front of her, and she put her arms out, pushing them open with no effort. Katurskay's study was immaculate, with several bookshelves lining the walls. The room was dimly lit by old fashioned oil lamps and a single large, roaring fireplace. Three desks adorned the room. Two of them were neatly piled with thick, old books, with two chairs for each one. They were covered in dark green felt, carefully tended for by some of the best tailors Russia had. The third was a wide, dark oak desk at the far end of the room, lit by the enormous window that overlooked the white Russian landscape. This third desk was Katurskay's personal workspace. No one ever touched anything on it, and if you were invited to sit in the single carved chair in front of it, it was either for something very good or something very bad. Katurskay's own chair was enormous, high backed, with curving arms and clawed feet.
Katurskay himself was sitting in the large chair, carrying his enormous frame comfortably. The old musk ox loved old-fashioned comfort that reminded him of life when Russia was strong. Katurskay had been on Joseph Stalin's personal staff throughout the Cold War, and had even secretly been the real leader of the Soviet Union all the way up until it had fallen in the nineties. After that, he had been deposed, overthrown, cast into the shadows and labeled a murderer and a criminal. In response, Katurskay had swiftly gathered the still loyal members of his own former personal army, forcefully taking control of Volgograd's criminal underworld. In almost no time at all, the entire city answered to him. Police chief, mayor, no matter who the people thought was in charge, they still answered to Katurskay.
After his takeover, Katurskay had executed everyone who had stood against him, cleaning out the city government and police station, placing his own puppets in office. He literally had his finger on the pulse of the city.
And he was thirsting for more blood.
He looked up from his computer, past the reading glasses that deceptively gave off an air of age. Katurskay may have been over seventy years old, but the elderly musk ox was still as cold, vicious and ruthlessly powerful as when he'd fought the Germans in defense of this very city.
As she stepped into the study, closing the doors behind her, he grunted, looking at his clock before he remarked "You're late, Tanya. One minute late."
Tanya bowed before her father, saying "I'm sorry. There were a few…annoyances to deal with in town."
Katurskay grunted, laying down the stack of papers he'd had in his other hand, saying "If you were not my daughter, I would cut off your ear. However, I am merciful to my own blood."
Tanya knew, however, that if she slipped again, she would most likely be punished in the fashion he said, family or not.
Raising her head, she reached up and rubbed a flake of snow off one of her horns before saying "The compound is secure. The wall is repaired and the machinery is wrecked. The advantage will be ours."
Katurskay nodded, asking "What of the Apostles?"
The Apostles were Katurskay's professional assassins, and although most of them were foreign and not trained in the Soviet Union's old regime, they were all trained to be better than the best. In short, they were the deadliest men in all of Asia.
Tanya nodded and said "They are camping out nearby. They prefer to memorize the layout now." Katurskay removed his glasses, allowing himself a rare smile. It contained no warmth, as ever, and Tanya, though she was accustomed to it, felt a chill run down her spine.
The old musk ox rose from the chair slowly, his powerful body draped in casual business clothes. His hand rose to the tie around his neck, and his fingers gently loosened the red cloth. His head tipped back, displaying his enormous, curled horns as he stared at the giant symbol on the ceiling: the hammer and sickle, the emblem of the Soviet Union. He stepped out from behind the desk, tucking his hands into his pockets, his gaze still fixed on the emblem.
"Soon," he whispered, as if he'd forgotten his daughter was there, "Soon, my empire will rise again. Russia will once more be the most feared nation in the world…with me at its head."
As much as Katurskay controlled the city of Volgograd, there was one person, only one, that he answered to: an Italian mobster who had control of nearly all of Europe, Taloreso. Katurskay and Taloreso were both men who'd had their power torn from their grasp by the undeserving. Both also had common goals: Taloreso wished to rule the world, and Katurskay wished to bring glory once more to Russia. However, for either one to accomplish their goals, they needed the other.
Tanya watched her father as he stood there, reminiscing to himself and imagining the future. She never knew who her mother was, even had her suspicions that he wasn't her true sire, but had accepted the life he'd prepared her for. Using the Soviet training of old, Katurskay had put her through every single field of special forces training before she had even reached fifteen years old. Her accuracy with any firearm was unmatched, and her physical strength was great enough that she could grab a man by his jacket and throw him like a rag doll. She was his greatest, most loyal asset.
Tanya cleared her throat, bringing her father back to the real world. As he turned to face her, she said "I do have some unfortunate news, however. I have just received a phone call from our operative in Mexico. Muggshot has been killed by an alliance of the McCoy and Cooper Gangs, and all our men posted to protect his operations have been exterminated, including Taloreso's men."
To her surprise, her father began to laugh, his face breaking out in another of his chilling smiles. "Well, we all knew it was going to happen. I suppose it was simply a matter of time." He turned away from her once more, stepping back to his desk, asking "And what of McCoy? When shall we spring the trap?"
Tanya rolled her head slightly, cracking her neck before answering "They are still in Mexico. Our operative recommends we wait until they have returned to one of their safe houses."
Katurskay nodded once more, settling into his chair before, saying "Very good, Tanya. Dismissed."
Biting her lip angrily, Tanya saluted stiffly, turned on her heel and left. As soon as she was out of the study, she swiftly pulled out her cell phone, dialing furiously. When the man on the other end picked up, Tanya said "It's me. We don't have long. Is everything ready?" She listened to the response before she finished "Good. I'll call when we commence."