Chapter Eight
Unknown Location...
"Do you believe she'll take the bait?" - a shaded male figure asked, from the holocomm terminal. The tone was sligthly distorted, as if going through a vocal changer, and the man's face was impossible to make out.
Bob Page rubbed his chin, his eyes still on the agent's preliminary report. Then he picked up a PDA with Fedorova's full personality profile, giving it another thorough read. He paced towards a heavy sherawood table on a raise dais, and sat down, steepling his fingers.
"Every fish can be snared with the right bait. And her psychological profile paints a very intriguing picture. It's clear why she was handpicked for the Triaxis program. A desire for security, borne from her childhood experiences and traumas, counterpointed by an unyielding sense of self-worth and stubborness. Throw in her cultural upbringing, mental toughness, and vindictive mindset... one must admire DeBeers in a way. He does have an eye for suitable raw material. But his methods... well. They handed us a perfect weapon to use, against him. And the way she was broken in, left much to be desired. You don't leave a trail in a subject's mind. You wipe it all off, not just suppress it. Sloppy... but given his arrogance, I'd expect no less."
"Hypothetically speaking, what's to stop her from becoming more trouble then she's worth? Especially if she learns the full details of what happened. We have to assume her kill-protocol has been disabled by now, thus we'd have no easy way of neutralising her. Besides, we do have other assets at our disposal. Direct and through intermediaries." - the figure countered dubiously.
But Page waved his hand, as he began counting on his fingers...
"Not likely, at least not in the short term. She is after two things. First - a target. She needs a... guilty party, to focus on, and consummate her grief, rage, and vengeance. We'll give her one, and the irony is, it will be the correct one. More or less. As cunning as she is, her emotionalism when it comes to avenging her family, will make her tunnel-vision on the prey. She may have broken out of the fold, but she's still what was made of her. She's still what made her so suitable for the program to begin with. And that makes her predictable."
"Second - a future. Clearly she is trying to reinvent herself. I'm very interested in the company she's keeping. The backup. Is he a romantic interest? A lover? A friend? Someone to create chinks in her mental partitioning? Especially if under threat... if there's a connection involved, it's a weakness we can capitalise on."
"Blackmail potential?" - the figure murmured.
"Of course. But not directly. Why put us in the spotlight, when we can make DeBeers and his cronies look even worse, to her eyes? Give her even less incentive to question what we spoon-feed her." - the man's vicious smirk spoke volumes.
The figure was silent for a long moment.
"Mmm... it's still a dangerous game to play, Bob. The Council may catch on. And then we WILL be in danger, before we're ready to make a move. And you've already made the mistake of underestimating DeBeers once."
Page's eyes narrowed.
"Thank you for the reminder. But that is precisely the third point I'm making. She is external to MJ12. And a direct result of his lapse in judgement. The damage she can do to both his position, and the Council as a whole, is worth the risk. We have our own assets, true. But we didn't have a way to leverage the Council's failures. Until now. And I refuse to pass up on the opportunity. Not to mention an opportunity to recruit an asset with her level of accumulated experience." - he closed the link.
Remembering Audra Chow, then thinking about a seven-year-old girl left behind. Margaret... Maggie... was his responsibility now. Bob Page had long-since moved past emotional attachments. For the most part. But Audra was... important to him. Not just to the organisation. Losing her, being made to silence her - was Lucius DeBeers's doing. And the man had to fall for that. He had to suffer. Be humiliated. And destroyed. Simply... killing him... would not do.
The man paced to the window, looking out at the vibrant nightly cityscape.
Personal? Maybe. Risky? Yes. But it NEEDS to happen. We have never met in person, Fedorova... Unit 02... but there's something to be said for common purposes. And who knows - you might even get your own vengeance as well, before you outlive your usefulness. Still... I need to cover my bets. And as susceptible to manipulation as you are – your erratic predilections need to be accounted for.
With that, the man moved over to a secure terminal, opening an encrypted voice-channel.
"This is Page. Pull the strings with Tarvos Covert Ops, to have Hermann reassigned. Observation and monitoring, long-term assignment attached to Rogue Mantis operation in Georgia, Russia. " - he gave the order.
~"Active or sleeper?"~ - an emotionless-sounding female tone replied.
"Sleeper. For the time being." - Page clarified, then signed off.
"So what now?" - Irwine asked under his breath, glancing around.
The small coffee-bar they were at, in Kala neighbourhood, the Old Town, was one of the increasingly-fewer number of places that didn't discriminate between augs and natches. Yelena got a few looks, but no more then that, as the two sat down for a drink.
The woman seemed... distant, having one of those expressions on her face that told Irwine she was – listening – to something he couldn't hear. Not for the first time, he wondered if caving-in and having a pair of cochlear implants installed himself, might be a good idea.
"You know I've been wondering... just how much can you hear, with those things?" - he added, curiousity getting the better of him, as he took a sip of his coffee.
"I've seen you zoning-into transducer signatures of proximity explosives, microwave transmissions, radio signals... is it just about hearing threshold or is it more then that?"
"It is like..." - Yelena paused, searching for a term that fit, "... like having cat's antennae on your forehead. Or a bat's echo-location ability. Or just a very sensitive sonic amplifier, which is essentially what cochlear implants – at least the ones I have, military-grade – are. I can pick up about twice the audio-range of a human ear. Low and high frequencies. I can shut them off when I want, or I'd go insane from all the... white nose... I am getting when in public! But I use more then that. I can also segment unwanted receptions out, which is what I do almost all the time. Like signals over civilian GSM network for instance."
"But sounds without context are just noise. I have a digital uplink in my temporal bone, which can interpret and decode various non-analog signals. Like the Infolink and other kinds of satellite-based comms, those that aren't encrypted anyway, but I can use it to decode other types of transmissions too. Activation signals, jamming signals, radar frequencies... lots of things." - she shrugged.
"Wow... so you're basically a walking transceiver array! That's... crazy. You're not listening-in on my cell-calls are you?" - The man shook his head in amazement.
"Should I?" - Yelena teased with a smirk, then continued... "But no, I don't. I cannot. That's where signal encryption comes into play. I can pick up the signal, but I cannot interpret it. Meaning I need the password to decode the transmission. Some people do not lock their phones, and I can tap into those..." - she grinned wickedly.
"...but you do. So – no. I can't. There are certain types of implants that allow for real-time frequency locking. I think Couture is equipped with those. But I am not a hacker, so... I was not fitted with that functionality."
"That's a relief..." - Irwine made a show of wiping his forehead... "I have many juicy secrets to hide!" - which elicited a giggle from her.
" But... something's got your attention. I can tell that much." - he got back on topic.
Yelena's face turned serious.
"There is an Infolink frequency operating nearby. I have been... feeling it... ever since we met up. On the train, I wasn't sure. Too many overlapping signals. But now I am. It isn't one of the ones I recognise. It isn't one of the ones we used, in the Tyrants. And it also isn't part of the frequency-range used by the Collective. Someone... else. Is here. And I do not think it is a coincidence. You ask me what now?" - she pursed her lips.
"Now we keep an eye out. We're being watched. By who, I have no idea."
"Why didn't you say anything on the train?" - Irwine frowned.
"Because I wasn't sure. Like I said, too many signals. Had to tune out most of them. Now the aether is more clear. Here is the thing... it goes both ways. There was a reason I found the most dirty, run-down, out of the way place to hide in, back in Gorelovo. Somewhere I was confident nobody would come even vaguely in my direction. My Infolink signature is something I can never fully hide. I have burned-out the tracking implant, I have erased my code-signature from the cabal's system, but the frequency itself is still there." - she explained.
Irwine nodded.
"So basically, they know, that you know, that they know, right now?"
"I can't tell what they do or do not know. But I can tell they're waiting for something. Our next move? Sizing us up for an ambush? If it were one of the old frequencies I used to operate on, I would expect that. But it's not. So... hard to tell. So yes, we keep an eye out, and continue to our destination."
"Signagi? Where it... happened?" - he nodded.
But she frowned, taking the photo out of her pocket.
"No. My grandmother's home... or what is left, probably. Maybe I am reading too much into the symbolism, but... someone has done their research on me. And they know how close I was with her – specifically. Besides..." - she sighed.
"I don't think I'm... I'm ready... to return there. To my parents' place. To the – the..." - she choked off.
"Yet. I thought I was, but... no. No. I DON'T... I don't want to see that street. I don't want to see the facade of that building. I don't want to go inside and upstairs to the third floor, where our apartment was... open the door and go inside. And relive it."
"You don't have to." - the man whispered softly.
"Besides. Whoever is observing us... it will be even easier to zero-in on them, out in the country, then in a city. And less witnesses, if it comes to a fight." - her expression turned clinical again.
"Point. So... next stop, Batumi?" - he shrugged.
"Just to the south of Batumi, near Kvariati. About an hour's... no... forty-five minutes' drive. So from here... let's say four and a half hours, assuming no heavy traffic or checkpoint delays. Probably not going to happen, on a highway. We can rent a car and go. And keep an eye in the rear-view mirror, of course." - she finished up her cup, and rose.
"You think they'll be that obvious about it?" - Irwine smirked.
"Depends who – they – are. But it will be a good way to determine their level of professionalism." - the woman shrugged.
"In the meantime, let's go over the intel we were provided about UralPharma and Madalyuk's business connections. I did not want to discuss it on the train, within earshot of that family, but now is as good a time as any..."
With that, the two left the cafe, walking down the semi-crowded street, talking in hushed tones.
"They are underway. Rented vehicle. I'm tailing them at a discreet distance." - the agent spoke softly into the comms device, now in his own car, a nondescreipt-looking white compact.
~"Excellent. Don't begin the interaction until they arrive."~
A dozen minutes later, as the car ahead took an exit onto the highway leading westwards from Tblisi, it became clear that their destination wasn't Signagi, however. This made the agent frown slightly.
"Update, they are taking the westbound highway. Away from Signagi. Please advise."
~"Standby. Running extrapolations."~ - came the reply. A minute passed, before the voice came back.
~"Probable destination, the subject's grandmother's home from the image. Kvariati village south of Batumi. Clearly she is taking the symbolism literally."~
This made the agent's expression tighten.
"A good five hours' journey then, to a sparsely populated area. Will be difficult to follow unnoticed."
~"Improvise. Out."~ - the voice ended the link.
The agent shook his head to himself in some annoyance. The entire exercise seemed pointless to him – why not either contact her directly, or take her out? But his mission parameters were specific. Apparently, the idea was to play on the runaway operative's emotional state, and appeal to her sense of retribution, about her family. Highly unprofessional frame of mind, in his own considered opinion, making him question her value as a potential asset – but his job was to follow orders, not question them.
Play the part... your job is to play the part. Nothing more.
"We are definitely being followed. The signature is clearer. And I believe the frequency is... active... right now. They are in contact with someone. Somewhere... behind us." - Yelena murmured, one eye on the rear-view mirror, scanning the cars behind them.
Irwine, in the driver's seat, frowned.
"How close, do you think?"
She shook her head.
"Impossible to tell. Less then fifty-sixty metres. That is the radius in which I am likely to be aware of other Infolink channels. But that is still a lot of cars. Could be any one of them." - she paused.
"But this is starting to annoy me. We came here on... my admittedly personal quest. I assumed someone would be aware of my movements and predict them. Someone is. So what is the point of this... stupid game?! Just show yourself, damn it!" - muttering under her breath.
The man shrugged.
"Observing us? Maybe having second thoughts? The message said you needed to come alone 'where it all began'. You're not alone. And we're not en-route to where it all began, are we?"
"They cannot be that naive, to expect me to follow their instructions blindly. You were right back home. This could be a trap. And if it is, I would rather spring it on my terms, then theirs." - Yelena retorted.
"You don't think they could just call it off? Up and leave?" - Irwine pointed out.
"If they do, I will know they aren't serious. So far... the signature is there. Behind us, somewhere. We are being tailed. So let's see what happens when we arrive at Kvariati."
The highway stretched ahead, curving gently into the horizon, as the car speeded along. The conversation switched back to the matters of the upcoming assignment, but the woman's glances in the rear view mirror were telling.
Kvariati, Georgia... five hours later
Afternoon was slowly turning to early evening, a trace of red painting the western horizon, as the car slowed, ascending a gentle slope above the beautiful coastline of the Black Sea, and Yelena couldn't help but be... overwhelmed... with surfacing memories. She rolled down the passenger-side window, breathing in deeply. Suddenly, she could see her grandmother's face clearly in her mind's eye... the two of them walking through the small vineyard behind the house... she, as an eleven-year-old girl, helping grandma pick the grapes.
"It has been so long..." - the woman murmured... suddenly pointing.
"There. Just past that outcropping. The road should fork to the right... about... two hundred meters down a field path. I used to... walk down this road, down to the beach in summer... I remember..." - she trailed off wistfully.
"We've got a positive on our tail. At least I'm fairly sure it's the one. That white compact down there on the serpentine below? Just behind that blue van – the one just turning off into that driveway? It's been hanging around ever since the stopover two hours ago at that roadside bistro." - Irwine's tone suddenly turned clinical, as he nodded at the side, past his window.
She nodded, her mind snapping back to the here and now, as she smoothly opened her backpack, and pulled out a suppressed Zenith, racking the slide and tucking it at her cargo pants' belt, at her back. Thinking briefly about it... she grimaced, then also pulled out a Buzzkill stun pistol, keeping it ready in her hand.
"I have noticed it. Drop me off as soon as we round the outcropping, and are out of sight. Then keep going towards the house." - she instructed.
He glanced at the weapons...
"Well... that's a switch from your usual." - lips twitching into a brief smirk as he noticed her primary choice of weapon, as their car came up to the bend.
Yelena rolled her eyes.
"I am trying to give them the benefit of doubt. I take it you'll have me covered by the time they get up here?"
"Thirty seconds. I'll have overwatch from the end of the path." - the ex-sniper nodded casually, patting his own backpack, and the half-disassembled Longsword Whisperhead in it.
"Have I mentioned lately that I love you, Irw?" - she purred, just as they rounded the outcropping.
"Nah, but I'll remin-" - he began with a grin, but she'd already opened the door halfway, and slipped out, without even waiting for the car to fully pull over.
~"Red. Code-22. Repeating: Red. Code-22."~
The subvocal message stopped the agent short, just as he rounded another bend in the winding road uphill, just past a rocky outcropping he observed the car vanish behind, a minute ago. The lanky, middle-aged man frowned, then narrowed his eyes, slowing down to a crawl, suddenly feeling a bit - exposed.
The Infolink frequency it was transmitted through, was a wide-band signal. A non-encrypted channel. Something that was anathema for any operative, former or otherwise. Basically, anyone within half a kilometre radius with an Infolink receiver would be able to pick it up.
So she knew she was being followed. And she was... confident enough, to use an open channel, to announce it to him, assuming he would pick it up, and that there wasn't anyone else within half a kilometre radius, who could. But that wasn't the interesting part.
Code-22.
That was one of the more rarely used Tyrant shorthands, indicating the operative was in the company of a 'mark', that they were either unable, or unwilling, to terminate.
He bit his lip softly. Who would it be referring to... ? Her company? Or...
He never had a chance to finish the thought, as the rear-seat doors suddenly clicked open, and a gust of wind brushed his back. He began spinning around... only to feel a muzzle of a weapon press against the side of his neck, as someone sat directly behind him in the back seat.
The muzzle press was steady. Measured... yet firm, without a single tremor of indecision.
"Do not turn around. Drive on. Toward the end of the field path." - a female tone spoke calmly in his ear, in heavily accented English.
The agent relaxed slightly. Belatedly remembering the third instance, where Code-22 would be employed.
Unable, unwilling, or... undecided on.
Something told him that in his case, the third one applied. But he was still alive. Given who he was dealing with... that was a good start.