Chapter 3: The Best Laid Plans…
"It is confirmed," Holmes said, sitting down next to Clearwater, Hart and Thompson in the deserted mess hall.
Clearwater's eyes went wide; Hart visibly tensed; Thompson snickered.
"Can we stop wasting time and start doing something about it, then?" he asked.
"Hold on a second," Hart protested. "What did Storm Shadow say?"
"Anything he could think of to throw me off track," Holmes replied. "He conveniently failed to react when I mentioned the wolf and his dear brother had the exact same injury, and he was altogether too cool about it all. It was plain as day that he was trying to play innocent, and therefore, that he knows something. We've already agreed his oath to Hawk means he wouldn't cover for Snake Eyes if this was just about an unauthorized pet; therefore, what he knows can only be that Snake Eyes is himself the wolf. Q.E.D."
Clearwater audibly gulped. Hart grew a bit pale.
"We need silver bullets," he whispered. "I can hit him, but…"
"Are you insane?" Thompson whispered harshly. "You want to kill him? Snake Eye is a hero! We're NOT killing him just because he's… just because he has an inconvenient disease!"
Holmes rubbed her chin thoughtfully.
"But what about everyone else?" Clearwater asked. "I don't want to kill him either, but we have to do SOMETHING! What if he starts attacking people?"
"Especially when you consider that he IS a ninja," Hart added.
"What we're going to do is inform the higher ups and let THEM deal with it," Holmes said. "Anything else would get us all thrown out of here at best."
Thompson nodded. "Agreed, but we're going to need some solid evidence: nobody will just take our word that Sergeant Snake Eyes is a werewolf, even with all the best arguments in the World. Trust me on this, people never believe anything that goes against what they think they know unless you got incontestable proof."
"Catching the transformation on film might do the trick," Clearwater suggested.
Thompson shook his head. "That didn't work for that autopsy on an alien, it never works for Big Foot, it never works for Nessie and it never works for UFOs. It won't work for a werewolf either: people will believe it's all special effects."
"How about getting DNA samples from the wolf form and the human form?" Hart tried.
Thompson rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Hart, I would have expected you to know better. The transformation changes the DNA, as demonstrated by the samples taken from the two forms of the Denver werewolf four years ago."
Hart resisted the urge to argue the Denver werewolf was a fake; he had no desire to enter into a pointless argument with Thompson. Instead, he merely adopted an enlightened expression that seemed to deeply satisfy the conspiracy lover.
"We need to arrange for the transformation to occur in front of witnesses," Holmes said. "In theory, it's simple enough: we capture the wolf form and expose him somewhere someone will see him at dawn. We just need to figure out how to capture him, and to make sure he's not seen well before dawn and moved to a secluded area or released."
"Won't he be naked when he transforms back?" Clearwater asked, flushing at the thought. "I mean, he never even takes off his mask… he's going to kill us."
"I think he's going to be even angrier that we're exposing him as a monster," Hart pointed out. "We may want to make sure we have him in a very solid cage with a very good lock."
"He wouldn't hurt team mates," Thompson said, shrugging. "That much should be clear to all of you. Just think about it: even as a wolf, he hasn't hurt anybody yet. That says something. I don't know how long he'll be able to control himself, but the fact that he has so far is nothing short of incredible."
"Yes, yes, we all realize how truly amazing he is," Holmes said flatly. "Moving right along, how do we capture him?"
"Tranq gun," Hart automatically replied. "I'm not sure it'll work, though. Werewolves are usually resistant to all weapons except silver ones."
"A tranq gun's not really a weapon, though," Clearwater said.
"That's why I think it still might work," Hart said. "A werewolf's skin can be penetrated relatively easily, they just heal instantly if you use anything else than silver. But! It doesn't matter if the small hole from the dart heals right away, the drug would still act. Only thing is, they're immune to poison, too. I'm not sure whether that includes sleeping drugs."
"I don't think it would," Thompson said thoughtfully. "I would expect the resistance to poison would be triggered by their effects, and the drug's only effect would be to put him to sleep. I can't see that qualifying as something to be countered by his immune system; if it did, he'd never be able to fall asleep at all as a wolf."
"I would tend to agree," Holmes said. "In any case, it's certainly worth a try."
"Are there any tranq guns around, though?" Clearwater asked.
"There's supposed to be a rifle in the infirmary office," Thompson answered.
Holmes typed at her laptop for a few seconds before nodding.
"There is," she confirmed. "Oh, I see why you knew…I thought it was a bit of a random piece of trivia, even for you, but it says here it was brought in to control the more slippery patients, including Snake Eyes."
"Alright," Thompson said, ignoring the jibe. "In that case, here's the plan…"
The following afternoon, Nancy Clearwater casually strode up to the locksmith shop's counter and got in line with the other trades people looking for permissions or keys to locked areas or cabinets. Getting around in any area that was somewhat restricted was a bit of a challenge at the Pit: doors were locked with both physical locks and electronic ones, and very few people had unconditional access to any given one of those areas. For instance, only the medical personnel had access to the infirmary office after hours – and the rifle cabinet inside was understandably kept locked at all times.
The general consensus among the trades people who had to constantly get keys and extra permissions programmed for their prox cards was that this was all the ninjas' fault: security wasn't considered good enough until it gave them at least a bit of a challenge when they tested it.
Therefore, security was rock solid... in theory. In reality, the maintenance personnel often chose efficiency over useless red tape and hindrances and therefore, shortcuts had been created in an effort to speed things up a little. Nothing that was against the rules, of course, but little things that, in this case, meant Clearwater would be able to make Thompson's life just a bit easier tonight.
For instance, if it was possible to send just one person to do several jobs in one area, that's what the scheduling supervisors did – the keys and card swipe routine then only had to be done once rather than two or three times. Knowing this, Hart, Thompson and Holmes had respectively reported a blinking light, a leaky faucet and registered a complaint about the AC being too strong in the infirmary office. As Thompson had predicted when he had explained that part of the plan, Clearwater had been issued the work orders to go check it all out.
"Hi Nancy," Jamie Collins said, smiling broadly. "What are you up to today?"
Clearwater smiled back and handed her work orders and her prox card as she answered.
"Just a few things to check in the infirmary office," she said nonchalantly, "but I have some other stuff I'm supposed to do first, so I'm not sure I'll get there before five."
Collins glanced at the work orders to confirm the location was right and left for the back of the shop, where the keys and the prox card reader were located. He swiped her card, clicked and typed around a bit on the computer next to the reader, and grabbed one of the infirmary's key sets.
"There you go," he said, depositing the keys and her card on the counter in front of her. "You have electronic access until midnight and you can drop the keys in the chute when you're done."
Clearwater smiled, relieved in spite of herself. Electronic access was always set to midnight because it was the default in the system and changing it took several clicks in the database's front end. Also to gain time, keys were always issued as the full set for each room so that the control clerks did not have to try and figure out which ones would be needed for each particular job. Just the same, she had been a little bit worried that Murphy's Law would kick in and that she'd only be given the keys and access she actually needed, depriving Thompson of the access he'd need later that night.
"Thanks, Jamie!" she said, re-attaching her prox card and pocketing the keys. "See you tomorrow!"
Thompson left his dorm room at 2300 that night, after making sure his dorm mates were all asleep. He grinned the whole way as he sneaked to the infirmary office, absolutely delighted with the way things were working out.
As Clearwater and Hart had pointed out, it was reasonable to expect Snake Eyes would be very angry at being exposed. When you came right down to it, however, it was a necessary pill to swallow for the ninja: once the initial unpleasantness was over with, he'd get the help he needed before his condition deteriorated to the point where he couldn't control his wolf form at all and ended up hurting those he loved. Thompson had never seen a reported case of a werewolf actually being cured, but he had unearthed the recipe for wolfsbane potion years ago, and that would at least keep Snake Eyes stable until a cure could be found, which was sure to happen sooner than later once the American military backed the research.
He was still smiling as he let himself into Doc and Lifeline's office using Clearwater's prox card and the keys she'd given him. Holmes had confirmed she'd wipe the record of this access from the door access database and that she'd have the camera in here recording a loop of its own recordings until 0005, so he flicked on his flashlight and walked without concern to the wall cabinet. He inspected the lock on it, but it was not engraved with a key number so he just tried keys until he found the right one.
Predictably, the rifle was in the cabinet by itself, with no tranq darts. Thompson deposited it on the desk and started trying the drawers. He found the darts in the bottom one, the only one that was locked. He took the whole box, picked up the rifle again, closed everything he had opened, turned off his flashlight and slipped out, heading for the common bathrooms a few doors down.
As agreed, Hart was waiting for him in the wheelchair accessible stall. Thompson passed him the rifle and the darts, gave him a pat on the shoulder as a silent good luck wish, flushed the toilet just in case Storm Shadow had heard someone walk into the bathroom – the ninja's quarters were just around the corner, one floor down – and headed to a storage room where cages were kept – they were a relic of the time Cobra had taken to using wild cats as extra assault forces and hadn't been used in years, but they were still kicking around. Thompson felt this was a rather strong indication that someone suspected they'd be needed again.
Simon Hart tore his eyes away from the sink with great difficulty – he hadn't actually used the bathroom, nor had he touched any of the fixtures, so washing his hands would only have been a ridiculous and potentially dangerous waste of time: the last thing he needed was for someone to walk in on him while he was uselessly washing his hands, the stolen rifle next to the sink.
Just the same, leaving without following the ritual was extremely difficult. It wasn't right, and he didn't like to think that it might break his carefully entrenched habit. He was usually very careful about cleaning up after using the bathroom, to the point that if he suspected at all that he had forgotten a step, he typically went right back in to wash up again. This had led to his being very careful to follow an established pattern precisely and to pay close attention while he was doing it, because he hated it when he had to do it again. He knew he was most likely being silly when he did go back to wash his hands again, and he was pretty sure the people who saw him do it thought he was ridiculous or terrified of germs.
He stood by the door, ready to open it. He needed to hurry: he still had to make his way out while dodging the hall patrols, find Snake Eyes, take the shot and help drag the wolf to the cage Thompson would have ready by then; all before 0000 so they could return the rifle to the infirmary office and avoid Clearwater being suspected of having taken it.
He took a deep breath, counted to three and put his hand on the door, intending to push. Seeing his hand, however, reminded him that he'd probably spend the next few weeks wondering every time he came out of a bathroom whether he might be leaving without washing his hands again, questioning whether the memory of doing so really was only from tonight. He bit his lips and narrowed his eyes at himself – he was being stupid, and worse, he was jeopardizing the mission.
He closed his eyes, counted thrice to three and pushed the door opened, stepping out as quickly as he could. He forced himself to just keep walking and to concentrate fully on dodging the patrols, and by the time he was outside, the urge to turn around had mercifully vanished.
From there, his job was easy. He made sure the outside patrol was nowhere near and headed for the general area where the werewolf had been spotted on two separate nights by Thompson and Holmes. Once there, he climbed atop one of the trees to better scan the area. He took out one of the darts, emptied most of it to adapt the dose to a wolf, charged the rifle, got comfortable, and started scanning the area through the rifle's targeting lens. The beast finally strolled into his field of vision nearly fifteen minutes later and immediately turned its head straight towards him, growling.
Since he hadn't had a chance to test the rifle and could expect any kind of deviation, Hart aimed for the middle of the thick body and took his shot. The growl turned to a brief whimper before the wolf slumped down, dead to the World.
Hart quickly climbed down the tree and trotted towards the maintenance door where Thompson would be waiting with a cage. He had to stop halfway there, however, to hide back into a tree while the patrol strolled by. He waited until the lone guard was out of sight again before hurrying the rest of the way to his rendezvous point.
"Okay… Note… to self… werewolves… are… really heavy," Hart huffed in a low voice as he deposited the wolf's backside on the ground, right next to the opened cage.
"Wimp," Thompson breathed, grinning as he dragged the unconscious animal into the cage and pulled off the ropes that bound it. "I should have asked Clearwater to help me."
"She wouldn't have," Hart replied with a low chuckle, "not with all those email forwards going around about criminal gangs roaming the night and whatnot."
Thompson lost his grin and scowled. His voice was still a whisper, but it acquired a slight growling quality.
"Just because the police won't make a public announcement to admit they can't control criminals doesn't mean all those warnings were just dreamed up out of thin air, you know."
Hart rolled his eyes.
"Oh, come on," he whispered. "I know just as well as you do that popular wisdom isn't always right and that there are in fact things that can't be explained around us. AND, I'll admit that maybe some of those warning emails are actually based on actual incidents; key word maybe. But Clearwater'll believe ANYTHING; she fell for the H20 one last week, for crying out loud."
Thompson's eyes widened and he chuckled. "Okay, that IS pretty bad. But I still prefer someone with an open mind over someone who refuses to accept the truth just because they're afraid of it."
Hart checked the lock on the cage a few times before he answered with a shrug. Thompson considered the debate won and went to check on the cameras they had hidden around the PT field, pointing at the cage they had planted in the middle of the running track. The cameras were an insurance policy: if the transformation happened before 0500, they would at least have it on film. Alternatively, if the wolf somehow escaped, that escape would be recorded as well and would either show the animal displaying supernatural strength or powers, or someone breaking him out.
Thompson came back to the cage for one last look at the werewolf before heading back inside.
"Are you sure the patrol won't spot him before morning?" Hart asked on the way to the night access door.
Thompson nodded.
"I've been paying attention to the blind spots around our route each time I did guard duty outside at night, and the PT field is one of them: we don't go close to it because it's nowhere near any door or the fence, and it's not lit. They won't see the cage until the sun rises, trust me."
"And you're sure BeachHead will be out here at five in the morning?"
"Nothing stops the Sergeant Major from running at 0500 every morning. I bet even if he got killed, his ghost would still show up for it AND to run PT." Thompson chuckled at the thought. "How's that for a haunting? 'DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY! YOU STILL GOT ARMS, USE 'EM!'." And I bet we'd all do it, too."
Hart scowled at him. "You shouldn't make jokes like that. There's already a ghost here! You might make it angry, or worse, give it ideas about getting company!"
Thompson rolled his eyes but held up his hands in a pacifying gesture.
"Okay, okay, gees. Sorry. Now hush, let me check to make sure the patrol is still on the other side of the building."
Thompson dragged Hart behind a tree and peeked around for the night patrol. Seeing no sign of it, he gestured Hart to follow and hurried to the door. They let the door scanner read their prox card and since they were after all authorized personnel, they got in without problem. Furthermore, since Holmes had promised she'd wipe all trace of their passage through that door for the night, nobody would know they had been outside.
Thompson's last task for the night was to return the rifle to the infirmary office, which he did with nearly ten minutes to spare to midnight. He then went back to bed, unnoticed by his roommates who were still soundly sleeping.
Snake Eyes was only just out of bed and ready to get dressed when he heard the soft scratch on the door. He tiptoed over and peeked out through the peep hole, his brow furrowing in puzzlement upon seeing Tommy's face. He opened the door.
His breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened: Storm Shadow was holding Timber, and the wolf was completely limp. He sighed in relief when he saw his flank was rising and falling rhythmically: Timber was just asleep.
Tommy edged past him, dragged the dog bed from under the normal bed with his foot and deposited Timber on it before turning back to face his brother.
Snake Eyes signed to ask what had happened.
"What happened is, for the most part, what I TOLD you would happen. He's been spotted."
Snake Eyes ignored the lecture and signed to ask how Tommy had found Timber and where, and whether he knew how he'd been made to sleep so soundly.
"I found him in a cage in the middle of the PT field. As for how, it's easy: one of the greenies stayed after hand-to-hand to interrogate me about Timber because she SAW him. Did I not tell you it was a bad idea to let him out? As for why he's out cold, they used the medics' tranq rifle."
Snake Eyes nodded with a sigh and signed his guess that Storm Shadow had followed the greenshirt after her interrogation and overheard her planning Timber's capture. He acquired a frown while signing that deepened with each gesture.
Storm Shadow crossed his arms.
"Ah, see? You caught on quick to THAT: yes, I knew about their plan and I let them carry it out. If you can figure THAT out so quickly, I trust you can also see, now, that this isn't working."
Snake Eyes snarled and signed the word "why".
"Why did I let them put him to sleep? To shake YOU awake!" Storm Shadow snarled back. "Tell me it worked, Brother. I'm not sensing a strong urge to go confess to Hawk coming from you, and it's worrying me."
Snake Eyes clenched his fists briefly, ignoring the pain that shot up from his left wrist, and signed that he'd just find a better hiding spot for Timber.
Storm Shadow's eyes widened. "You've got to be kidding."
Snake Eyes shook his head and started signing something about how Timber could have had a bad reaction to the tranquilizer.
Storm Shadow missed most of it from smacking his own forehead and dragging his hand down over his face.
"Brother…" he sighed.
Snake Eyes clicked his tongue to get his attention and tried again to explain how irresponsible it had been to let Timber get captured. Storm Shadow felt his temper snapping about ten hand signs in.
"Enough," he growled. "I can't believe you're still thinking of hiding him, after I demonstrated beyond all doubt that it was NOT working! Everything we've been doing so far is WASTED EFFORT, Brother! You can hide his scent with incense, you can use his sleeping points to make him sleep most of the day and camouflage the occasional howl with a CD of forest night sounds, you can make him wear mittens lined with rubber so he won't scratch, you can spend half an hour a day picking up hair from yourself and your room, you can send him out at night so he won't go completely stir crazy, we can all pretend we're on a protein boost diet to explain the extra meat – which, by the way, Flint is already suspicious of - and guess what? Three days! It took three days for a GREENSHIRT to be aware of him! I've been telling you all along, we can't keep this up!"
Snake Eyes started signing, but he was too angry to organize his thoughts on the fly and after three attempts at signing something that made sense, he walked to his night table and picked up the notepad he had on it. He wrote for a bit, tore the page and crumpled it, wrote again and this time, handed it to Tommy.
I can't believe you would even suggest I abandon Timber simply because it would be easier. I would have expected you, of all people, to understand.
Tommy methodically crumpled the paper into a tight ball before throwing it at Snake Eyes' face. Snake Eyes caught it easily and glared at his brother.
"How can you think, for one second, that I'd tell you to abandon a friend? What I'm telling you is to tell Hawk about this before someone else does! You know just as well as I do that Hawk will go easy on you no matter what; the least you could do is lessen your offence by confessing before you're just turned in!"
Snake Eyes signed that he would not be turned in and that the best thing he could do for Hawk was to leave to him uninvolved, despite the inconvenience to them.
"How can you still think you will pull this off? You told me yesterday that Timber would take at least another week to heal completely. The greenshirts won't take that long to find him again: they're determined. You're not going to believe this, but…"
Snake Eyes interrupted him to repeat he would hide Timber better and to ask whether the greenshirts would try turning him in without catching Timber again first.
"Well, no, they know nobody's going to believe them, but…"
Snake Eyes cut him short again to point out that in that case, as long as they didn't find Timber again, everything was fine.
"Will you stop cutting me off and listen? You can't hide Timber for another week! I just told you, Flint's not buying the protein boost story! AND, Stalker's bound to remember at some point that neither you nor I have EVER used incense before and that you've never before needed nature sounds to relax. On top of that, the rumour we started about Scarlett and you having a fight to explain why you needed so much relaxation and meditation is already dying off thanks to the fact she's constantly coming here to help you with HIM!" He pointed at the sleeping Timber with an exaggerated motion that matched his rapidly deteriorating temper.
Snake Eyes had crossed his arms to resist the temptation to cut in again, out of sheer desire not to be shown up on manners by Storm Shadow. He took the opportunity to get a word in again as soon as Tommy stopped for breath.
He signed that he was just trying to keep a pointless conversation short and very slowly and deliberately, stated that yes, he thought he could pull it off and that therefore, he was absolutely not going to go burden Hawk. He quickly added that this was his final decision and that there was no point insisting when Tommy opened his mouth to protest.
Tommy's upper lip curled into a snarl. He could feel a vein throbbing on his forehead, and his hands had tensed into claws, reflecting the irrational desire to strangle his stubborn idiot of a brother. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down before talking again and managed to keep his tone below screaming.
"This is the gym all over again: you're not listening to your instincts! I can't believe I can't get through your thick head when I shouldn't even NEED to!"
He turned around before Snake Eyes could sign a reply and let himself out, barely resisting the urge to slam the door shut behind him. He stormed down the hall back to his own quarters, muttering angrily to himself about brothers who were supposed to be smart.
Scarlett raised an eyebrow at Snake Eyes when he sat in front of her for breakfast.
"Aren't we…" she started in a whisper.
He signed that it wasn't working anyway and launched right into a long rant about what had gone on a few hours earlier with Storm Shadow, his signs so close to his chest and so fast as to be nearly invisible even to her.
She watched intently until he was done, her breakfast forgotten.
"So… let me get this straight. He knew they were going to drug Timber, he let them do it, and HE's angry?" she asked in a low whisper that still managed to convey a very explicit desire to kick Tommy in the head.
Snake Eyes nodded, smiling under the mask he had not yet rolled up to eat. He could always count on Scarlett to understand and get the point.
"Speak of the devil," Scarlett said, pointing towards the entrance with her chin.
Snake Eyes looked back briefly and scowled: Tommy still looked in a perfectly rotten mood.
He was rather surprised when he heard him coming their way a couple of minutes later. Tommy sat down next to Scarlett, opposite him, and met his glare.
"I'm sorry, all right?" he said.
Snake Eyes blinked behind his visor: he had known that Tommy would come around and continue to help with Timber despite the previous night's explosion, but he had certainly not expected an apology.
He wasn't quite ready to accept one so easily, either. He signed to express he still could not believe his brother had watched a bunch of greenshirts shoot Timber rather than stop them.
"I didn't watch them," Tommy protested in a low whisper. "I heard them planning it, but I didn't follow them around; I went to bed and only got up in time to bring Timber back to you around the time you'd normally go out to let him in, hoping the greenies had been successful and that he would indeed be asleep in a cage."
"How is that any better?" Scarlett hissed.
Storm Shadow narrowed his eyes but otherwise ignored the interruption.
"They were planning to use just a tiny dose of tranquilizer," he whispered. "They weren't even sure he'd go to sleep, and they had a contingency plan to try again tonight if he didn't. I honestly did not think there was any danger at all that they'd harm him. I just saw an opportunity to make a point."
He scowled at Snake Eyes at that point.
"It's a shame it didn't work and you still don't see that you need to give up and fess up." He sighed. "Just the same, it's your call, not mine. You can still count on my help, even though you're being an idiot."
Snake Eyes' protest was cut short by a commotion at the end of the line for the food: Beach Head had cornered Ace and was demanding to know whether he knew anything about a cage and several empty cameras being left in the PT field.
Storm Shadow whistled softly, genuinely impressed.
"The greenies actually went through their whole PT without cracking and confessing," Scarlett whispered, impressed as well.
"It' too bad we can't tell Beach what happened," Tommy said. "It seems Timber is making trouble for more than just us, brother."
"He is NOT," Scarlett answered, glaring at her lover's best friend. "Those greenshirts are. Names, Storm Shadow."
"I think not," Storm Shadow answered. "Neither of you are any good at hiding it when you're angry with someone, and you don't want them to find out you know what they're up to."
Snake Eyes cocked his head and asked why not.
"Oh, that's right, you kept interrupting me last night when I was trying to tell you in the privacy of your quarters, where you would have been free to laugh or freak out. They think you're a werewolf. They're trying to save you and by extension, everyone else around. If they find out you know about them, they will run straight to Hawk in desperation rather than risk your killing them in their sleep. Unless of course they decide to shoot you or Timber with a silver bullet, but they seemed pretty determined not to hurt you."
Scarlett gaped at him until Snake Eyes gently lifted her chin to close her mouth again.
He then signed that in that case, it was just a matter of showing up with Timber in front of the greenshirts and then, make them promise not to tell anyone about the wolf under threat of angry ninja.
"I refuse to believe you would sink so low as to bully teammates into covering up for you," Storm Shadow said, scowling again.
Snake Eyes sagged. As simple as the solution was, Storm Shadow was right – he'd never actually do it; he was quite happy with the fact most people didn't want to mess with him based only on his appearance and general reputation, but actually threatening teammates to have his way would be plain dishonourable. After a few seconds spent thinking of a way to shut the greenshirts up OTHER than by force, he gave up and signed to say he wouldn't seek them out until Timber was safely back in California.
Author's Notes:
The intrepid greenshirts would like to express their thanks to WillWrite4Fics and CrystalofEllinon (and others I may be forgetting) for providing Lifeline and Doc with a tranq rifle to use on runaway patients. :D
Game time! Other than said rifle, this chapter contains a reference to a story posted here by another author (it could be one of the two mentioned above, or not). Can you find it? I'll give the answer next chapter.