Author's Note: Man, what a rush! I love writing! First and foremost, I'd like to thank PerennialKillJoy again for his invaluable input and correction of my work so far. I couldn't have continued on with this story if not for his creativity and objectivity. I'd also like to thank the reviewers out there who've stuck with my story so far, especially to Wyntirsno and tiger002. The support means a lot. This chapter was originally meant to be longer, but I decided to split it up and make the 8th chapter a follow-up to this chapter. This way I can space out all the dialogue and action by making the story last longer than I initially intended. Hope you all enjoy the chapter, Snappelinz out!
After the explosive clarity of a million shards of glass ringing in my ears, the piercing screams of people surrounding me dulled my senses just as quickly. Just as Lance pulled the both of us to safety behind the counter, I remembered where I was. The bar; OPIUM was already here. And in a few seconds, who knows how many thugs were going to come running into the establishment after their target: me.
"London, we have to get out of here now!" Lance exclaimed over the din of chaos.
The cogs in my head were starting to turn. There was an exit through the kitchen leading out to an alleyway, which would take us back to the street just in front of the bar. Depending on the traffic at the intersection, we might just be able to have enough cover to get to Lance's car, wherever he was parked.
"Let's go through the kitchen," I answered after a few seconds.
And then for the second time in 24 hours, Lance and I were running like our lives depended on it. Lance, who was behind me, began firing his gun against the echoes of shots being fired from behind us. As we passed several rows of metal shelves in the kitchen, we both began knocking them over deliberately in case our pursuers tried to follow us directly. Just as I slammed the kitchen exit behind us, Lance retreated back towards the door with a large waste bin in his arms and placed it in front of the door. And then we began sprinting down the alleyway, the chilly Boston air enveloping us from every angle.
"Where's your ride?" I asked for the second time in 24 hours. Wow, déjàvu.
"At the end of the alley." Lance replied quickly.
"Take out your gun, just in case," he added as an after thought.
And then we both dove into the car at the sound of gun shots being fired at us from the front of the bar. Within 3 seconds, Lance had sped off away from the bar. Nearly 5 seconds later, I saw a black van coming towards us in the rear-view mirror and then heard the spray of gun fire in the distance. I opened up the window a fraction and began shooting my own gun at the direction of the van to dislodge their pursuit. This was met with a blast at the back of Lance's car; a bullet had lodged itself in the back windscreen, causing it to crack in several places.
"Get down!" Lance commanded in a hysterical tone as he veered violently off course.
He too ducked slightly in his seat while he turned the wheel expertly back towards the road ahead. We managed to avoid a collision with a parked convertible on Lance's left by only clipping its side-view mirror marginally. I could now see at least three different vans hot on our tails. I decided to take a chance and aimed my gun low at the back tire of the van directly behind us. Bulls Eye! The wheel collapsed beneath the van, causing its front to crash ferociously into the van on its right, both vans now spinning haphazardly into another parked car next to a meter.
That left the last van still on our trail, barreling closer towards us in Lance's rear-view mirror. Both Lance and I lunged forward in our seats right after the van slammed into us from the back. Luckily, we both seemed to have only suffered minor whiplash because we were wearing our seatbelts this time. We were now coming up first towards a four-way intersection. The ghosts of cars were zipping at a perpendicular angle across the intersection from us. The traffic robot, which had been green for a few seconds, had suddenly changed to amber. It was time to make a choice.
"We're gonna have to drive right through the intersection!" Lance roared over the sound of the engine.
"There's a construction ramp to the left right before the traffic robot. If you hit that at the right speed, crossing the intersection won't be a problem!" I yelled back quickly.
"That's suicidal!"
"Do you have a better idea?"
"Good point."
And that was the end of that argument as Lance veered off deliberately to the left, preparing to mount the construction ramp. For a millisecond, Lance's car trembled when the wheels caught the bottom of the ramp as we made our ascent. But once we were airborne, all sense of gravity ceased to exist, at least for about 3 seconds. I was more focused on the Range Rover passing just below us at that moment as it crossed the intersection perpendicularly. If we lost altitude at any second, crashing on top of the Range Rover's roof was a definite likelihood at this point. But as luck would have it in impossible situations, the back tires of Lance's car only grazed the roof of the Range Rover by a fraction. And then the seatbelts rescued our bodies from pitching forward through the windscreen as the front tires bounced viciously back onto the tar road. To my intense relief, I saw our pursuer's van collide mercifully against the side of the Range Rover, but closer to where I presumed the fuel-cap was located on the vehicle. I said a silent prayer above and hoped that no one else was hurt.
"Whoa, what a rush!" Lance exclaimed jubilantly with a broad grin on his face while he drove.
So like a guy. We nearly get smeared across the pavement like Tapenade on a cracker and he's tripping off a major high because of it.
"Where's the nearest exit off this Kamikaze road?" Lance enquired once he'd calmed down.
"That depends. Where you heading?" I asked pointedly.
"West Roxbury."
"Then you'll want to turn right at the robot ahead. That'll take you towards the intersection of Washington Street and West Roxbury Parkway." I informed him quickly.
With a silent assent, Lance turned off to the right and we began driving in almost virtual silence. After the adrenaline had finally wound down, I started thinking about the predicament we were in. The hostage situation at the Tipton; OPIUM thugs all over our asses. I finally broke the silence when I noticed that the setting had changed abruptly. We were now driving along a small street littered with corner café's and small-town shops.
"Where are we?" I asked dumbfounded.
"Centre Street, in West Roxbury." Lance answered softly.
"Where are we going?"
"Bellevue Hill. We'll be safe there."
Even as Lance uttered the words with such authority and seeming assurance, I noticed that his hands were still clutched tightly around the steering wheel as we drove. I'd come across the name 'Bellevue Hill' numerous times in my American History textbook before. All I remembered was that it was the highest natural peak in the city of Boston. Why would Lance be taking me to the top of a hill?
We climbed the hill steadily along a dirt road. When we reached the top, Lance directed the car off the dirt road to the right. We were now venturing along a pathway (for lack of a better word) overgrown with long grass and tree roots along the edge of what looked like a small wooded area. If I wasn't thoroughly convinced of Lance's efforts to protect me this entire time, I would've assumed that he'd taken me out into the woods to kill me. Before I could let my imagination run away with me, the narrow pathway opened abruptly into a type of clearing straight ahead. At first I couldn't make sense of the darkness before me. But as my eyes adjusted to the indigo sky, I could finally make out the faint outline of what appeared to be a house suspended on a structure much like stilts. That's when I noticed that the car had come to a stop. After Lance had taken his keys out of the ignition, he came over to my side of the car and unnecessarily helped me out. Then taking my hand gently, he led me towards a winding wooden stairway leading up to what appeared to be a small balcony. After fidgeting with a set of keys, Lance finally managed to unlock the door in front of him. And then he switched on a light close to the door. What had been shadowed in darkness just seconds before was now enveloped in bright fluorescent lighting, pervading every crack and corner. I gasped.
I found myself standing in an open-spaced living-room of a single-storey house. But unlike the forest outside which was littered with debris and wild vegetation, this abode was tidy and contemporary. The living room contained a rocking chair and a two-seater couch, a coffee table in front of them. In front of the coffee table was a glass entertainment unit holding an impressive stereo system and what looked like a 50-inch LCD TV screen. With a quick scan of my eye, I estimated that the house must contain at least 2 bedrooms with an open hallway across the living room which I assumed led to a kitchen. To my immense surprise, the back wall of the living room appeared to have the biggest fish tank I'd ever laid eyes on etched right into it. I must've been gaping because Lance suddenly broke the silence by laughing loudly at my expression.
"Impressed?" he demanded lightly.
"Vaguely. Is this your house?" I asked dumbfounded.
"It is now. It belonged to my grandfather. He left it to me in his will." Lance explained carefully.
"And the stilts outside?"
"The house has always been suspended above the ground. But after my grandfather died, I decided to give the house my own personal touch."
"I can see that. How is your fish tank a part of the wall itself? Don't your fish get hungry?" I teased dryly, which made Lance chuckle softly.
"The tank is built on a metallic rotator, which allows the tank to be pulled out when it's feeding time. I control it with a remote."
"What happens if the remote control breaks? Then your fish become a permanent fixture on your wall." I teased flippantly.
"In that case, the other side of the tank stretches back into my bedroom, which has an adjoining wall with the living room. It's a bit of a long walk, but I can just go into my room to feed the fish." Lance responded smugly, which made me roll my eyes.
"I can't believe you actually live here. It's so…quiet and peaceful." I murmured as I went to examine a photo frame on the glass entertainment unit.
"That's why I like it up here. I get all the privacy I want with the assurance of safety at the same time." Lance stated confidentially.
"Must be nice." I agreed wistfully, feeling a pang of sadness for a split second.
"Don't worry London, we'll be safe here. I promise." Lance stated seriously, coming to stand behind me.
I turned to face him and realized that he was closer to my body than I initially anticipated. For 4 seconds I couldn't seem to remember where I was or my name for that matter. So I figured that was time to divert his attention by changing the subject.
"But Lance, I don't understand any of this. How did you even get to me in time at the bar? I thought Lynette and Salvador dispatched you to Reuben Marshall's relocation operation. Come to think of it, I'm surprised they still let you be part of it, considering you didn't follow protocol with my solo rescue mission," I began conversationally while pacing the room.
"Well both Lynette and Salvador decided that the relocation operation would be a fitting punishment for me. Besides stake-outs, I absolutely hate transportation assignments, especially relocations to a safe house. But before we even left HALO headquarters, we were ambushed coming out of the parking lot by OPIUM operatives. Somehow they found out about the relocation. They rigged the SUV with explosives which went off the minute we approached the vehicle." Lance answered grimly.
I stopped my pacing and stared at him with a disbelieving expression.
"Was anyone hurt? What about Marshall?" I demanded quickly.
"The other agents mostly suffered a few cuts and bruises with one concussion. Marshall got the brunt of it, second-degree burns. We rushed him to the hospital immediately." Lance replied matter-of-factly.
"Is he going to be okay?" I asked in a quiet voice.
There was something in Lance's expression that worried me.
"Save for the burns, the on-call doctor assured us that he would make a full recovery in time. But-"
"But what?"
"We were all discussing Marshall's possible recovery outside the doors leading to the E.R. His doctor got a page from the nurse's station 15 minutes later. Reuben Marshall went into sudden cardiac arrest. They did everything they could to resuscitate him. He didn't make it." Lance concluded solemnly, bowing his head slightly.
I came to stand beside Lance once more, clutching my head in my hands momentarily.
"Oh my God, his heart must've given out due to the excessive trauma of his injuries. What did the doctors rule his death as?" I asked curiously.
"Heart failure. But I don't think that's what killed him." Lance stated ominously, a frown distorting his face.
"What do you mean?" I questioned suspiciously.
"Because he was left unattended for at least 10 minutes. I called Dr. Kessler, HALO's top toxicologist minutes after Reuben Marshall was declared dead. I asked her to do a full toxicology exam. I think that he was poisoned." Lance responded cryptically.
"Poisoned? With what? By whom? One of the doctors or nurses?" I queried in a flurry of excitement.
"Possibly. But I think it's more likely that an OPIUM operative got into the room while all our backs were turned and ensured that Marshall kept his mouth shut for good. It wouldn't be the first time they've killed one of their own to cover their asses."
"My God, that's awful. What do you think the toxicology report will reveal?"
"I'm not sure. But Dr. Kessler will let me know some time tomorrow." Lance concluded slowly, looking weary for the first time all night.
After that we looked away from each other speculatively for a few minutes, each of us lost in our respective thoughts. Finally, Lance glanced my way, giving me a wry smile.
"Enough speculation, you look dead on your feet. You should get some rest. You can have my bed. I'll take the couch." Lance stated considerately.
The way he suggested it made me think that there was in fact only one bed in the entire house. I became immediately hesitant.
"Lance no, I can't take your bed. This is ridiculous, you can't sleep on the couch, it's way too uncomfortable. There's more than enough room for the both us in your bed," I protested vehemently.
But Lance held up his hand to cut me off.
"London, it's okay. The couch is a sleeper sofa, so I'll be fine. You can check the drawers in the bedroom for some clothes to sleep in. There are some towels in the bathroom if you want to take a shower," he intervened wisely.
I made my way into Lance's bedroom and checked through his drawers. There were no designer labels in this particular drawer, but I did manage to find a grey sweat pants which looked like it might fit me and a matching baggy Celtics sweater which looked comfortable and warm. After Lance directed me to the bathroom, I took a shower. The warm water was exquisite against my tingling skin, rushing along ever crevice of my body and soothing my aching muscles. I decided against washing my hair, thinking it would be better to do it in the morning instead. Since I had no toothbrush of my own to do my usual night time ritual with, I consoled myself by chewing on a minty Mentos that I found in my purse. Then I put on Lance's Celtics track suit and trudged out of the bathroom. I entered the living room just as Lance was laying out a pillow and duvet across the couch. He had dressed himself for bed while I'd been in the shower, wearing a black sweat pants and a white wife-beater. He smiled approvingly at my attire.
"The Celtics look good on you," he stated appreciatively with a smile.
"Thanks. Maybe when all of this is over, I might actually watch some basketball," I returned with a wry chuckle.
"Lance, thank you for everything. That's twice that you've saved me now." I pointed out seriously.
"You're welcome. Now you owe me." Lance responded softly.
"I guess so. Good night." I murmured gently.
"Good night, sleep well."
"You too."
And with that, I gratefully got under the covers of Lance's bed. The duvet had some comic-strip super-hero draped across it that I couldn't quite place, but I suppressed my laughter at it all the same. Some boys just never grow up, do they? Then I turned off the lamp on a pedestal beside the bed. I thought that I might end up succumbing to my recent bout of insomnia and decided to amuse myself by staring at the ceiling. But somehow, my brain knew better than to resist sleep tonight. Whatever happened tomorrow, my body knew that I needed rest and peace of mind. I remember thinking vaguely about how Lance feeds his fish in his bedroom right before my eyelids closed in a hazy whirl of fatigue and apprehension.
I couldn't recall if I dreamt about anything in particular during the night. But I did recall waking up abruptly with a jerk of my neck. My eyes fluttered open feebly and a yawn escaped my mouth. Placing a hand over my mouth, I gazed absent-mindedly down at the duvet over my chest and gave a start. Why on earth did the Tipton maid put a duvet on my circular bed with a ridiculous comic strip on it? Silly, no maid at the Tipton has a death wish. This wasn't my bed; I wasn't sleeping in my room. Someone whistling 'Sitting on the Dock of the Bay' from outside the room brought me back to my senses. I was in Lance's bedroom, located in his one-storey house on stilts on Bellevue Hill, West Roxbury. He drove me here last night after we nearly got flattened by thugs on a busy traffic intersection. And just yesterday afternoon, OPIUM had taken my home, the Tipton hotel, as well as my friends and my father hostage. 24 hours seemed like a lifetime ago. I heard the sounds of plates and frying pans being banged about in the kitchen sink. I made Lance's bed as neatly as possible and decided to take a shower.
This time I took slightly longer in the shower, on account of having to wash my hair. God, I miss my Pantene anti-breakage shampoo and Trés Semme hair-care products. I wasn't sure what Lance and I were planning to do today. Whatever it was, I had to make sure that I bought some new clothes and other necessities like a toothbrush and Haagen-Dazs. I emerged from the shower nearly 40 minutes later, having retrieved a bathrobe from Lance's wardrobe, my hair hanging limply across my shoulders from the moisture. When I walked into the kitchen, I saw that Lance was already dressed and busy at the stove, making what looked like scrambled eggs. He had already set out two plates, cutlery, some bagels, coffee and the newspaper on the coffee table.
"Wow, dressed and breakfasting, all by 7:30am. I'm impressed." I stated by way of greeting while leaning casually against the kitchen door.
Lance wheeled around abruptly to face me. He took in my appearance and I suppressed a grin at his lingering stare.
"Morning, sleep well?" he enquired finally after relaxing his stance.
"Like a baby. Maybe it's those Batman sheets, I don't know. But I haven't slept that well in ages." I replied genuinely.
"Well, I'm glad I could be of service. You hungry?" he asked politely.
"Starving." I admitted sheepishly.
After that we both went to the living room and began eating breakfast. We didn't talk much during the affair; Lance was glancing occasionally at the newspaper while I was enjoying my scrambled eggs thoroughly. Just another thing that I didn't know about Fish Boy – he knew how to cook. While I was sipping on my coffee, I turned on the TV only to regret that I did to begin with. Naturally, every news station around the country and the world had footage of the Tipton under siege. There were reporters, cameramen and policemen all over the place. It was a zoo. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Lance was reading the main headline of the newspaper, which too had covered the recent hostage situation at the Tipton. I just hoped that my friends were okay and that they were safe, given the circumstances. I sighed audibly and put my head in my hands. Lance glanced up from the newspaper and smiled wanly at me.
"It's going to be okay London. We'll figure this out somehow," he stated consolingly.
"I know. I'm just nervous about the situation. Don't you think it's strange that we haven't heard anything yet from our superiors?" I asked curiously.
Lance shrugged before answering.
"They've probably got their hands full with debriefing the other agents. I let Lynette and Salvador know already that you were with me. It'll be a matter of time before we know what's happening." Lance responded matter-of-factly.
"I guess. I just hate sitting around and not doing anything." I stated ruefully.
"Let's change that. If you want to buy some clothes and other necessities, there are a couple of good shops on Centre Street." Lance suggested wisely.
It was as if he had read my mind. Was it possible to like a person more than what was necessary?
"You totally read my mind. I could use some shampoo. Your Nice & Easy doesn't do anything for my hair type." I teased, which made Lance laugh uproariously.
"Okay Ms. Hotel Heiress, let's go then. I'll drive," he returned evenly.
I wonder now if Lance regretted offering to take me shopping. Granted, the shopping for a toothbrush and other daily necessities took about 15 minutes at a drug store by a gas station. But shopping for clothing befitting for an heiress was another story altogether. I found two little boutique shops on Centre Street that suited me well. So the better part of an hour was spent trying on clothes and finally buying a few items which I liked. But I made sure not to charge anything to my debit or credit cards in case OPIUM was still looking for me. I paid for all my purchases with cash while Lance slipped into a grocery store to pick up more supplies for dinner. And then we headed back to his little house on the hill. It was soon after I began making grilled cheese sandwiches for the two of us for lunch when a call came through on his land line.
With a quick wave of his hand, Lance gestured to me to sit next to him on the couch across from where the phone sat on the coffee table. He had evidently switched the speaker phone on because a booming voice began talking. I recognized it as Omar's voice.
"Agent Oz and Agent L, is the line completely secure?" Omar enquired suspiciously.
"Yes sir, it's secure." Lance answered calmly.
"Excellent, I needed to be sure that the line hadn't been tapped. I will now debrief you on the current situation at the Tipton Hotel."
"There has been minimal engagement between OPIUM operatives and outside forces such as the Boston police and ourselves of course, as is custom in any of their hostage situations. The OPIUM security controlling the ground floor has informed us that there are approximately 750 guests in addition to about 60 employees in the hotel, based on the information given to them by Marion Moseby, the hotel manager. Wilfred Tipton is being kept in his penthouse suite on the 23rd floor under close supervision by Laurent Savoy and his personal security detail. We are uncertain yet about the number of armed OPIUM operatives situated in the hotel. Concerning security, the Tipton's lockdown codes haven't been activated yet, but it's only a matter of time before OPIUM prevents anyone getting in and getting out." Omar began in a grim tone.
"What's our current plan of action sir?" Lance enquired politely.
"Our first priority is to ensure that no guests or employees are harmed in any way by OPIUM operatives. We have already begun the negotiation process according to standard protocol."
"And if negotiations are unsuccessful?" I asked apprehensively.
"For now, it's our only option. We have to believe that negotiations will succeed in the end." Omar responded firmly.
"Alright. And what do you require of Agent Oz and myself?" I asked in a business-like tone, in spite of my dismay at current DEMON protocol.
"I require the both of you to stay as far away from the Tipton as possible." Omar ordered in a hostile tone.
Lance and I exchanged quick looks with each other before Lance spoke again.
"But sir, don't you need all hands on deck?" Lance questioned in bewilderment.
"Certainly. But as for the two of you, I don't want you anywhere near the Tipton during the negotiation process."
"But sir, it's my hotel! How can you expect me to sit back and do nothing, least of all help?!" I thundered, finally losing the battle for professionalism.
"That's exactly what I expect you to do Agent L. I know it's your hotel, that's why I don't want you anywhere near it. You're too close to the situation. Agent Oz informed us last night about OPIUM's attempt to abduct you a second time. If you come into close proximity with the Tipton, there's no telling what Laurent Savoy or OPIUM might do. You might end up being a prisoner along with the other guests, or worse, dead. As for Agent Oz, his superiors informed me that he is suspended from active service indefinitely. So I will only tell the two of you one more time and I hope it will sink in. Do not, under any circumstances, go near the Tipton against my orders. Do I make myself clear?" Omar demanded in a threatening tone.
Lance shook his head before I answered for the both of us.
"Crystal."
"Excellent. Now I advise that the two of you stay exactly where you are, out of sight. We will brief you on any new developments as they occur. That is all for now."
And with that, Omar hung up the phone.
"This is bullshit. We should be out there helping with the negotiations." Lance retorted in a frustrated voice.
"Negotiations won't work. They're not supposed to. Whatever bargaining chip DEMON or HALO offers, it won't be enough for OPIUM. Look what happened at the Chrysler Building 2 years ago." I pointed out despondently.
"Well then, we can't let it go that far. We have to find some leverage of our own to get OPIUM to back down somehow." Lance murmured crisply, folding his hands together while he spoke.
Just then his cellphone rang shrilly from his bedroom. Glancing at me quickly, Lance went to retrieve it. He returned two seconds later with it in his hand.
"It's Dr. Kessler," he informed me before opening the flap.
"Dr. Kessler. Thank you for returning my call…yes, I understand the current situation, but any breakthrough will be vital to the overall outcome of this situation…You have? Really...of course, I should've guessed…extremely difficult to detect no doubt by normal means. That makes perfect sense. Thank you Dr. Kessler, I really appreciate this. Goodbye."
And with that, Lance hung up the phone.
"What did Dr. Kessler find?" I inquired as calmly as possible.
"It was heart failure all right. But it was induced by a chemically enhanced artificial peptide that binds to neuroreceptors in the brain." Lance explained quickly, coming to sit down beside me again.
"What does that mean? Is it a synthetic compound?"
"Exactly. And because it binds to neuroreceptors, it can't be traced in the blood stream."
"So I'm guessing that Dr. Kessler found traces of the peptide in either the spinal cord fluid or the ocular fluid?" I ventured a guess.
"Bingo, the ocular fluid. And it was done with a minute pin prick to the back of the hand that would only be detected if the skin was flayed. It first renders the victim unconscious before inducing immediate cardiac arrest. The perpetrator probably only had a few seconds to get out of the room." Lance stated emphatically.
"Cardiac arrest on the spot. I guess that means he didn't suffer too much then?" I asked in a quiet voice.
"It appears that way." Lance replied, matching my tone.
"Well that's something. But now OPIUM's won this round. That's why they killed him. They must've figured out that he didn't tell us anything incriminating."
"That's not entirely accurate. I had one final session with him yesterday afternoon. He gave me a name – Kevin Moran. Works for an accounting firm called Webster-Prewitt." Lance offered with a satisfied smirk on his face.
"I know the company. But that's odd, his name's strangely familiar. I'm sure he's a Charter accountant that does the financial books for DEMON's division. Why would Reuben Marshall give us the name of an accountant in DEMON's employ?" I asked wonderingly.
I hope that was enough of a cliffhanger for all of you. I enjoyed working on this chapter thoroughly. For any Boston natives out there, I hope I didn't offend you too much with my lack of knowledge about geography. I lived in Boston eons ago in Watertown. But other than that, my sense of direction pretty much sucks : ) I wikipedia'd the information I got on West Roxbury and Bellavue Hill. Hope you liked the little toxicology blurb, I owe it all to Robert Ludlum (bless his soul). Please let me know what you thought about the chapter and any possible criticisms. Cheerio!