Summery: A protection detail turns into a deadly game of cat and mouse...
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or Laura Croft or anything really...
A/N : Hello, all. I wanted to get another chapter up before finals. Wish me luck, yes? I probably won't update much over the course of the next week as most of my time will be spent with my nose buried in a text book. I shall endeavor to update this story over the course of the Christmas break but I can't make any promises, as I will be spending the holidays with family.
In any case I wanted to personally thank everyone who has read this story and who has posted reviews. Thank you so much for your comments. They mean so much to me! As you know I welcome polite constructive criticism so please do feel free to leave comments. I respond to each personally. They help me to improve and to become a better writer, which is something I am always striving to do.
I also wanted to give a brief nod to Laura Croft Tomb Raider :Cradle of Life from whom I got the idea for the advanced Ebola. Interestingly enough Ebola is not in fact contagious, as depicted in the movie. Hence why there are no precautionary measures taken in this chapter.
Well, I shan't take up any more of your time with my rambling drivel. I hope you enjoy.
Oh, and Happy Holidays! :)
The Grandmother had never felt so old in her life. In all her long years, she had never felt such displeasure. Such anger as she did now.
She sat in her rocking chair, one gnarled hand resting on the fine wooden arm rest, the other gripping her cane so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Pale, cold blue eyes, nearly blind with age, bored into the man who knelt before her, displeasure tightening her thin lips into an unfriendly scowl.
She said nothing, she didn't need too. The man knew he had disappointed her. The only sound in the small, dimly lit, audience chamber was the soft swish of her rocker as she slid to and fro. It filed the cavernous silence like the slow, sonorous, knell of a funeral bell.
"I'm…I'm sorry Grandmother I didn't mean to fail you," the trembling man could no longer maintain his silence. He groveled before her, like so much swine, his forehead pressed to the cement floor.
"Yet you are here, Kevin…. You are here and Chiara Aiello Jensen is not…." Her voice rasped, cutting through the darkness like a knife. Too many cigarettes had turned her voice into gravel.
The man cringed. He didn't dare look up. It was a cardinal sin to look any Family Elder in the eye. Especially when one had failed.
"You were told to not come back until the job was complete. Until Jacob and Chiara Jensen were dead. Was there something unclear about those instructions?" the old woman queried.
"Yet here you are. You dare to come before one of the council of Elders with only half the job complete, and not even a body to show for that. It nearly cost the life of one of my finest men to confirm Jacob Jensen was dead…. How dare you," Though calm her voice cut like a knife sealing his fate almost as surely as a judge's gavel.
"I was told you would be merciful," He whispered pathetically, flicking his gaze upward catching the old woman eyes.
He dared.
The Grandmothers eyes widened and she rose up out of her chair, leaning heavily on her cane. A snap of her fingers was enough to bring her favorite man out of the shadows. The only man she called 'son.'
The tall, fit man in olive cargo pants and a fitted black shirt crossed the chamber with commanding strides. Without breaking pace he cuffed the man on his ear, so hard that it sent him reeling backwards.
"You dare rest your unworthy eyes on one of the sacred ones!" He bellowed advancing on him, even as he scrambled and scooted away.
"Please….Please have mercy on me. I didn't mean it ….Please….Just give me another chance to prove myself …. I won't fail you again." The man stammered flinching and raising his arms to protect himself.
The man just raised his fist again, what dim light there was glinted off brass knuckles. He was going to kill the insolent child.
For just a moment the Grandmother entertained the idea of letting him do just that. It would probably be more merciful then the fate she had been planning for the man. The man who was no better than a traitor as far as the Family was concerned.
As far as she was concerned.
She let the beating carry on for a moment, carefully weighing her options. Then abruptly she raised one weathered hand and the beating stopped.
Hardly winded, her 'son' stepped back, letting his bloodied fists fall to his sides, his eyes focused on his well-worn, military style, black boots. Waiting.
The traitor Kevin lay on the ground, broken and whimpering.
She shuffled over to him, her hunched form becoming more menacing, with each step she took.
The traitor rolled to his back with a groan, and peered at her through his one good eye. The other was a swollen, bloodied mass that he would probably never regain use of.
Not that it would matter for long.
He sniveled pitifully when he saw her standing there, peering down at him. The cold look of utter disappointment in her eyes could not have been mistaken.
Silently, like a saving angel, she extended her cane towards him, watching as his one good eye widened.
Like a man dying of thirst he rolled to his knees and scrambled forward taking the cane gratefully in his hands.
he mistook her gesture as a sign of mercy.
She smiled benignly at him as he pressed his filthy lips to her cane again and again.
A brush of her thumb across the hidden button was all it took to fire the needle.
She watched, her benevolent smile acquiring a mocking edge, as his eye widened once more, traveling down to the syringe that was lodged deeply in his chest.
Accelerated Ebola.
One of her nastier concoctions.
A horrible way to die.
She watched as he reached up towards his chest and numbly removed the needle. Removing it would do him no good. The virus had already been injected into his system. It was already in his blood stream.
It fell to the floor with a clatter that seemed to reverberate off the stone walls. Its message was clear this man's doom was secure.
He began to cough, violent convulsions shaking his frame, taking him to the floor. He lay there convulsing, vomiting up his own blood, coughing and choking.
"Shall I put him out of his misery Grandmother?" her 'son' asked finally after several long agonizing minutes of watching the man wither in excruciating agony.
"No. Leave him," she said without looking back as she returned to her chair. "Let him die a traitor's death. He deserves no less. "
"Yes Grandmother," he said both respectful and properly submissive, yet without weakness.
She shuffled to her chair, wrapping the visage of a hunched old woman around her like a cloak, and sat down with a weary sigh.
For a long moment she just watched her 'son' as he watched the man die. His handsome, sculpted, face expressionless.
He was a strong one. Smart to. An ex-member of the Swedish special forces, turned traitor and renegade. A man with no conscious and no morals. He was the perfect killer.
The grandmother had found him huddled in the doorway of some back alley in Chicago, so strung out on drugs and drunk it had been a miracle he'd been alive. Homeless, dressed only in his old, ratty, fatigues, with no one to turn to, betrayed and exiled by the government he had once willingly and faithfully served. She had seen the potential in him; through the dirt and the grime and the drugs. She had taken him in. Taken him under her wing.
Under her careful direction, and with her own personal attention, the Family had been able to bring him back from that hellish darkness. At least somewhat.
Weather from the drugs or other things, something in the man had snapped, leaving his sanity a questionable thing.
Still he served the family faithfully and was especially loyal to the Grandmother. It was only because of her that he was alive and he knew it. His loyalty to her was unquestioned.
She smiled with genuine affection as she observed the man, awaiting her command. He stood and waited with disciplined, restrained, readiness. Awaiting her command.
He knew knew her so well it was almost frightening. If he hadn't been so completely devoted to her she might have been concerned, and even may have ordered him killed.
But as it was he lived only to fulfill her will.
Right now her will was that the pathetic excuse of a man in front of her die. She grew tired of his wretched wailing.
A slight lift of her finger was all it took.
In one smooth, swift, almost elegant motion, her 'son' drew his gun from his shoulder holster, aimed it at the man's head and pulled the trigger.
The soft whump of the silenced weapon erased his existence. His failure.
The grandmother swallowed her nostrils flaring as the coppery smell of blood mixed with feces, reached her nose.
Even the traitor's smell was an offense.
She snapped her fingers and two petrified looking servants came running from the shadows. They bowed hurriedly, keeping their eyes averted from hers.
They were smart.
She was not in the mood to be trifled with. "Clean it up," She ordered her voice hard with brutality.
They bowed, and then hurried to do her will.
Finished with his task her son, smoothly holstered his weapon and prepared to return to his post, in the shadows, by her side.
She stopped him, beckoning him to approach.
He did so bowing his head before her. He really should have gone to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor. But she granted him leniency.
Her 'son' was destined for great things. One day with the right training, and cultivation, he would rise up and rule The Family.
He would become The Father and she would ever be his loving, faithful, Grandmother. Ruling quietly, behind the scenes.
"Halsten, how are you my son?" She said, her eyes crinkling, fondly.
"Being in your presence fills me with joy Grandmother," he replied, inclining his head, his manner subservient
She smiled at him, marveling at the man's complete sincerity. He was already extremely beneficial, and would only be more so later.
"Please my son. No need to be so formal with me…."
"I would never dream of disrespecting you so, Grandmother,"
"You are a good son to be so mindful," she murmured. It was a high compliment and his eyes widened slightly. The only sign he was surprised.
"Thank you Grandmother." He said inclining his head even further, hunching his broad shoulders in a more formal bow.
"Come. I got you a present," she said brusquely, rising from her chair.
Halsten was quick to proffer his arm.
She leaned on it gratefully, silently envying the chorded strength of his arms and the tautly strung power in his lean, well-muscled, athletic, frame.
She led them to side room, clapping her hands to bring the lights on. Two guards, hurriedly feel to their knees, their weapons clattering to the floor, as they touched their foreheads to the floor.
The Grandmother didn't even so much as acknowledge them. Instead she continued forwards, to the black table in the center of the room. A black box sat in the center of the table, backlit by bright white lights.
"Go on. Take a look," she encouraged stopping just short of the box, releasing his arm.
He glanced at her uncertainly before venturing towards the box and resting his hands on it. He paused, drawing deep breath before sliding his thumbs beneath the clasps.
They opened with a soft snick.
He pushed the lid open on silent, air pressure, hinges, drawing a sharp breath at what he saw.
Inside, on a cushion of padded black material, sat an M24 sniper rifle, equipped with the latest in tactical gear. Its metallic, black, surface gleamed softly in the light. It was by far the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
He stroked the cool metal of the stock with reverent fingers. The pure power of the firearm momentarily breaking his rigid self-discipline.
Abruptly he closed the lid with a soft, decisive snick, his discipline returning.
The man was good; she had to give him that. Few men could exercise such self control in the presence of something they wanted.
"Grandmother…this is too much I cannot accept it.
"You must…. You will need it,"
He turned towards her, dark eyes glinting, one hand still resting on the box.
"You have an errand for me Grandmother?" He asked his, slightly accented, voice rumbling from deep within his broad, sculpted, chest.
"Just a small one. It should be quick work for you…. I wanted to make sure you had the very best though… These aren't small fish you're playing with. You'll be butting heads with a federal agency…." She informed him, suddenly worried for him. She suppressed it firmly letting her face show nothing, though the thought of losing someone she actually had come to care about, filled her with foreboding. She had gotten to close to him. Let him get to close to her. Someday her affection for this boy would seal her doom. Someone would find out. Someone would take advantage.
"Jensen?" His query broke her train of thought and she looked up at him, her face a carefully composed mask.
"Indeed…. I'm afraid this whole situation has become quite messy. It's rapidly spiraling out of control and I'm afraid it is starting to -reflect- poorly on the family... You understand?"
He nodded, opening the case once more and gazing at the high-powered rifle.
"Don't worry Grandmother. I'll take care of it for you. "He promised, hefting the rifle to his shoulder with experienced ease.
"I know you will Halsten. I know you will," she replied tousling his, dark, short cropped hair fondly, letting her hand drift down to rest on his cheek.
He smiled at her with equal affection, leaning into her hand slightly.
"Do we know where the coward hid her?" he asked reaching up and grasping her hand between his own.
He had large, strong, powerful hands. Capable hands. Hands with blood on them both current and past.
"Of course. He secreted her away. But no one can hide form us for long. She is staying in cabin in Douthat state park. Number seven…. "She paused giving him time to memorize the address.
It didn't take long.
"As far as we know she is alone. However it is safe to assume that agents from the federal agency will be there…. That is why I am recruiting you for the job."
She smiled at him, moving her hand to rest on his well-muscled bicep.
"Find Jensen and kill her…. Eliminate the agents who are with her as well," she said with calm, calculated intensity.
He nodded, twitching his lips just slightly in what was probably meant to be a smile.
The man was the definition of discipline.
Perhaps then this agency will get the message and drop the case.… Weather they drop it or not they will learn to respect The Family, just as our political enemies have…. "Her smile faded slightly as she regarded her 'son' once again thinking if the danger she was sending him into.
"Your skills are unsurpassed both in the field, and as a sniper. You are the best man I have. You have the confidence of the Family…..More importantly, still, you have my confidence," she reassured, mostly for her own benefit.
His eyes glinted like flint in the darkness. "I'll leave right away Grandmother. I won't come back until the task is complete" he swore. Conviction ran deep in his voice.
"I know you won't "she murmured patting his bicep lightly, watching him as he walked towards the door.
"Halsten!"
He drew up short in the doorway, turning back to look at her, half his profile hidden in shadow, the gun still on his shoulder.
"Don't disappoint me," she said meeting his gaze squarely.
The man nodded and vanished into the shadows.
It wasn't until Halsten was out of the building, and speeding down the interstate in his Escalade that he allowed himself to smile. Well and truly smile.
The woman thought she had him under control. She knew so little.
He knew the game she was playing.
The truth was he was playing her.
She was only a tool in his ascension to the top. A means to an end.
Once he became The Father, he would have her killed.
Or, better yet, he'd kill her himself….. He'd enjoy that.
Then he'd replace her. He'd exchange her with a man. A man he could trust, manipulate, and easily kill.
Women had no place in the hierarchy of an organized crime syndicate. Positions like The Grandmother and The Mother were almost laughable.
Women had forgotten their rightful place in the world.
Beneath men.
But he intended to change all that. Starting with the Family. First he would build their trust. Gain the respect of the hundreds of underlings who practically indentured themselves to these iconic leaders. Then starting with her he would systematically eliminate the hierarchy, one by one, until they were all dead. So that no one could contest his rule. Or his will.
With the syndicate in disarray, he would take the seat of power and provide the good strong leadership the syndicate needed. And, that was only the start.
He smiled and for the briefest of moments allowed himself to envision a world in which he ruled. The only real power. The ultimate power. A supreme being, of sorts.
God.
In his kingdom men would hold all the important positions necessary to government and in industry. Men would be revered. Worshiped. They would rule by divine right, over there households and he would be their God. Their savior from all that was wrong and cruel and unfair and unjust in this world. He would take this world and set it to rights.
Women would be removed from their self-imposed glorified pedestal and forced to live a life of, submissive, servitude. They would be of little or no worth. Existing simply to fill the needs of the men who ruled them.
Little more than chattel.
Of course he said none of this. He didn't speak a word as he guided the Escalade smoothly around the banks and turns of the interstate. He knew his vehicle was bugged. He wouldn't doubt it if they had somehow managed to slip a wire somewhere on his person.
"I must not fail the Grandmother." He muttered deliberately making his voice sound a little bit deranged.
Let them think he was crazy. Let them think he was little more than a pawn in their petty games.
He had much higher goals.
It was only a fool who underestimated his enemies.
Halsten was definitely an enemy.
Ranger Baako leaned against the hood of his Land Rover, tossing an apple from one hand to the other, his back turned to the main road.
He wanted nothing more than to go home to his wife home and children.
He didn't even notice the black Escalade that pulled up just down the road, and parked behind a thick stand of trees.
He didn't hear the man as he approached.
The near silent 'whump' of a silenced gun, split the air just behind him. It was the only warning he received.
By then it was too late.
Distantly he noted that the apple had fallen. It thudded to the ground, the sound strangely loud in his ears, its green skin, stark against the deep, brown earth.
A second bullet passed through his chest and he grunted his eye traveling down to fix on the growing patch of blood that blossomed right where his heart should be.
The color fascinated him and for a moment he admired the deep, rich, red color, even as he crumpled to his knees.
It really was quite beautiful.
Too bad he wouldn't live long enough to truly appreciate it.
Slowly, like a predator stalking his prey, the man who had killed him circled into view. He stared at Baako a faintly smug expression on his handsome features. Then, slowly, he lifted his pistol. Leveling it so that the barrel was aimed just between the ranger's eyebrows.
Then the assassin smiled at him. Really smiled. His teeth perfectly straight and almost blindingly white against his sun-darkened skin. It could have been a handsome smile, one of the ones that could win hearts and just as easily break them; if not for the slightly manic, brutality behind it.
"Who?" Baako rasped his normally powerful booming voice, reduced to little more than a wet gurgle. He fumbled for his gun ineffectually. His fingers were numb. Why were his fingers numb?
"I am the harbinger of death" the man said then pulled the trigger.
Ranger Baako knew no more