/o\

Recoil

Part 4-3: Preparations for Murder

Wednesday, March 30, 1994

The Boardwalk

Kinsey stood firm. "No, ma'am."

I eyed him with a certain amount of exasperation. "Sergeant Kinsey."

"Ma'am."

"As your commanding officer, I am ordering you -"

He cleared his throat, in that unmistakeable way which good subordinates everywhere learn to use, and good superiors learn to recognise; the tone which says subtly, Ma'am, if you keep talking, you'll be making a big mistake.

I stopped and thought for a moment. "Prior orders, Sergeant?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am. From the Lieutenant Colonel."

"Not to let me out of your sight, no doubt?"

He nodded again. "Yes, ma'am. As your protective detail -"

"Sergeant." My voice was firm. "I'm going on a camping trip. Not on an insertion mission into enemy territory." Which was more or less what I was doing, to be honest. But I couldn't let Kinsey know that.

"The Lieutenant Colonel will neither understand nor care about the difference, should he contact me while you are away, ma'am," he replied obdurately. "As your protective detail, I am required to be at your side, or as near as possible, at all times."

Something about the way he stated that gave me pause. "Wait. You're not telling me that I can't go, just that I can't go without you. Is that it?"

He nodded. "Of course, ma'am."

"But if I was in town, it would be a lot easier to protect me, so you'd rather I didn't go at all."

His expression was extremely bland, which was a dead giveaway in itself. "If you say so, ma'am."

"Well, I need to go," I told him bluntly. "I need to get out and about, away from everything. So yes, I am going, and you'll be coming with, apparently."

He nodded. "Ma'am." A pause. "May I ask who else is attending this camping trip?"

I grinned. "Gladys and Andrea."

"Hmm." He rubbed his closely-shaven chin. "I foresee an interesting trip, ma'am."

It was my turn to be extremely bland. "I have no idea why you might say such a thing, Sergeant."

Was that a glint of amusement in his eye? "If the Captain says so."

"I do say so, Sergeant."

Internally, I was recalculating matters. Plan B, then.

-ooo-

Friday, April 1, 1994

Outside Winslow High School

Kinsey stood beside the car door, at parade rest, despite the fact that he wasn't in uniform. I leaned against the hood of the car, while Andrea bounced up and down beside me, too excited to contain her enthusiasm. "I can't wait," she announced for perhaps the tenth time that day. "I can't wait. I haven't been camping in like forever!"

I smiled tolerantly and corralled her with my arm. She immediately snuggled up to me. "Don't waste all your energy jumping up and down, sweetie," I told her. "Save some of it for hiking."

She snorted. "Why aren't you more excited? I thought you liked camping."

"I do, I do," I assured her. "But after ROTC and Boot, the idea of sleeping on the ground lost a good deal of its glamour and excitement, for me anyway." I half-turned my head toward the impassive sergeant. "Wouldn't you say so, Kinsey?"

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed. "You can only have bugs crawl down your neck so many times before the concept loses all of its magic."

"You're both spoilsports, and wet blankets," Andrea accused us. "Camping is fun and exciting, and I'm going to enjoy myself if it kills me."

I chuckled and rubbed my cheek against the top of her head. "Don't ever change, sweetie."

She smiled and put her arm around me, then looked over at the school. "Isn't she finished yet? I wanna go already."

"She's got a big test on," I reminded her. "And school's not even out yet. Teachers have their own schedules to keep, remember."

She nodded. "So where are we going to, anyway?"

"A camping ground out to the west of Brockton Bay," I explained, mindful of Kinsey's attention. Some officers forget that whenever they speak, NCOs listen, and think about what was said. I was always careful to keep that in mind, and I knew that Kinsey was far more than a dumb grunt.

"So will we be hiking?" she prompted. "I like hiking."

I nodded. "I believe we will be, yes. Though you probably wouldn't enjoy hiking the way Gladys and I are used to doing it."

She looked up at me. "And how's that?" she asked challengingly.

Behind us, Kinsey cleared his throat. "I believe the Captain is referring to what we call a 'route march', miss," he explained. "Heavy pack, fast pace."

"Oh," replied Andrea. "How heavy?"

"About as heavy as you," I told her cheerfully.

She shook her head. "No way."

I grinned at her. "Mayyybe."

"The Captain," Kinsey put in, "is exaggerating just a little, for effect. Although thirty pound packs are not uncommon."

Andrea wrinkled her nose. "Thirty pounds? All at once? Ouch."

"You get used to it," I told her. "Eventually."

"But you won't be carrying thirty-pound packs out there?"

"No need," I agreed. "A canteen, and a pack of sandwiches, is all we'll need."

"Oh, okay." She captured my hand and played with it, interlacing her fingers with mine. "I still can't believe that you're a captain."

"It's still kinda new to me, too," I admitted. "But with Kinsey there to remind me, I'm pretty sure I won't forget."

"Which also reminds me, ma'am," Kinsey replied. "I've checked over your dress uniform, and it will be ready to wear once we return from the camping trip."

I rolled my eyes; Andrea giggled. "Oh, joy," I groused, not seriously. "Dressing up like a stuffed dummy for the entertainment of others."

"The dress uniform serves a purpose, ma'am," Kinsey noted. "Showing off the PRT is not a bad thing. It gets us out there in the public eye. And who knows; one or two of the children who see you may decide to join the PRT themselves."

"So long as they don't decide to join for the pretty uniform," I pointed out. "We need serious people, soldiers. People who are willing to get in there and do the hard work. Peacocks, we don't need." It's going to be a long, hard road ahead.

"Not necessarily so, ma'am," he responded. "We can always do with more people in Recruiting. And public relations."

I considered that. "Okay, yes, you do have a point there. Now all we have to do is keep the people in PR away from those of us that are actually doing the real work."

Andrea giggled; Kinsey coughed, perhaps to hide a snort.

The bell went for the end of school; I straightened up and looked toward the main doors. After a few moments, they opened and students began exiting; one or two at a time at first, and then a veritable flood. We watched them pour out, congregating in groups or streaming out to the bus stop. Others went to cars that had been waiting in the parking lot, got in, and were driven away.

I ignored the flood tide of adolescent humanity, keeping my eyes fixed on the main doors. Once Gladys came out, we could go.

It's strange, I mused. Apart from the Nine, I've never set out to assassinate someone before, but in this particular case, I'm actually eager for it to be done. I knew why, of course; not only was the man himself repugnant, but it would help inure me to the other killings I had planned.

It wasn't this one that I would regret. It was the next one. But some things had to be done.

The outrush had died to a trickle. Gladys still had not appeared. I checked my watch and frowned.

Andrea voiced my concern; "Where is she? She should have been out by now."

I nodded. "Yeah. Kinsey, stay with the car. Let's go see what's going on."

"Ma'am."

With Andrea at my side, I headed across the parking lot and up the stairs. The doors were standing open, left that way by the children who had just exited. We entered.

"Her classroom's this way, isn't it?" asked Andrea, her voice echoing a little in the empty hallway.

I nodded. "Yeah." We moved on.

I was surprised at the nostalgic feeling that overtook me once more as we walked through the corridors of Winslow. I had attended this school in two separate time periods; it was odd to think that I had graduated before I was ever born. The place smelled better than it ever had when I had first attended, and looked better too. But smells and paintwork aside, the underlying structure of the building was still there. This was too close to the Winslow I had known for me to pretend that it was a different school.

Briefly, I nursed a fantasy of returning to the school once most of my work was over, and getting a job teaching there, at about the time Emma and her friends would be attending. There'd be no way they'd get away with their bullying antics if I was there. It was a pleasant idea, but I dismissed it; I had serious work to do. Mere bullies were not important in the grand scheme of things.

We approached the Computer Studies classroom, and I peered in through the window set into the door. Gladys was still in there, and so was one other person. She, at least, I recognised; it was Ms Blackwell, who had taught Home Economics when I had begun attending in 1989. And, of course, who had been the principal when I had begun attending in 2009.

We had never really seen eye to eye, for obvious reasons. When I met her again at an earlier time, I didn't like her, and she had picked up on that, although she could not know the reason for my dislike. Throughout my second time at Winslow, we had cordially ignored one another; fortunately, girls were not required to take Home Ec, and I was fine with that. Besides, I already knew how to cook.

Knocking on the door, I pushed it open. "Excuse me?" I asked. "Gladys, are you ready to go?"

Gladys turned to face me, but it was Ms Blackwell who spoke first. "I'm afraid that Mrs Knott won't be going anywhere," she began, then stopped and peered at me. "I'm sorry; I know your face, but I just can't place you."

"Taylor Snow," I supplied. "I used to be a student here. Gladys is going camping with me and my friends. What's the holdup?"

Her face cleared. "Ah yes, now I recall you. Mrs Knott is going to be assisting me in readying for Careers Day, over the weekend," she informed me tartly. "I'm afraid your camping trip will have to be put on hold."

I shook my head. "Nope. I already spoke to Principal Woodbine on the matter. She's cleared to go."

"I don't believe you," she declared flatly.

I shrugged. "So ask him."

"The principal," she informed me with a certain satisfaction, "has already left for the day."

So phone him, I almost replied, before reminding myself that mobile phones were still on the way in, and Woodbine wouldn't be carrying one yet.

"Well, tell you what," I told her cheerfully, "you talk to him when you see him, and if I'm lying, you can put me in detention. Oh wait; you can't. I've already graduated."

She glared at me. "You're interfering with school business. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Sure," I agreed. "Gladys comes with."

"No." She shook her head. "She stays."

"Oh, for god's sake," Andrea exclaimed. "Gladys, where are your tests?"

Silently, Gladys pointed at the stacked tests, waiting on the desk. Andrea trotted over, picked them up and returned to my side. "I'm kidnapping these," she announced. "If you ever want to see them again, Gladys, you're going to have to come with us."

"Put those back!" Blackwell stepped toward Andrea; I moved between them. As tall as she was, I had a couple of inches on her. She stopped, looking up at me.

"I've been getting training in close in hand to hand combat since I was fifteen," I murmured. "Touch her, and you will regret it." Touch me, and you'll regret it even more, I didn't have to say.

"Woo!" Andrea pushed the door open and exited into the corridor, waving the tests over her head. "I'm getting away!"

"Come back here with those!" Gladys slipped past Blackwell; the Home Ec teacher went to stop her, but I stepped into her path once more.

As Gladys escaped into the corridor, I faced Blackwell, forcing eye contact. "Well?"

After a few seconds, her eyes dropped away from mine. "Woodbine will hear about this."

"Say hi for me," I agreed. "See you Monday."

Turning, I pushed the door open and exited, leaving her standing there.

Students, I reflected, were not the only bullies to be found at Winslow.

-ooo-

I found Andrea and Gladys a little way down the corridor; Gladys had the shorter woman in a headlock, which was standard practice. She was also tickling Andrea unmercifully, which wasn't.

"Steal my tests, will you?" she scolded Andrea, while the redhead squirmed and giggled in her grasp. As I approached, Gladys suddenly let out an "Eep!" and released her. Andrea darted away and hid behind me, leaning out to poke her tongue out at Gladys.

"Wow," I observed. "First time I've seen anyone break one of Gladys' holds. How'd you pull that off?"

"She grabbed my butt," Gladys explained, rubbing that part of her anatomy, and directing a mock glare at Andrea.

"Really?" I asked, casually putting my arm around Andrea's shoulders. "I'm impressed."

Andrea nodded impudently. "Nice butt too. Really firm cheeks. Do you lift weights with them or someth- mmmph!"

She had been watching Gladys' hands and not mine, which was her mistake; she tried to squirm out of my hold, but I was ready for her. And my hand across her mouth stopped her from speaking, at least temporarily.

Gladys reached out and relieved her of the tests. "I'll take those, thank you very much." Stepping back, she straightened them, glancing through to ensure that they were all there.

Andrea licked my hand; I didn't let her go. Instead, I turned her a little until we were eye to eye. "Are you going to behave?"

Reluctantly, she nodded. I let her go; she glared at me, or tried to. With her mussed hair and dancing eyes, she merely succeeded in looking adorable. I reached out and wiped my hand on her shoulder. She grinned at me. "I can't believe that didn't work."

"You're just going to have to find some other way to catch me off guard," I told her. "Shall we go? Kinsey will be thinking that we've been given lines to write or something."

"Wait." Gladys stared at me. "Sergeant Kinsey's coming along?"

I sighed. "Not my idea. He got prior orders that I can't override."

She looked concerned. "But that'll make -"

"Four's a crowd, sure," I broke in, giving her a warning glance. You never know when someone is listening. "But we'll manage."

She caught my meaning immediately. "Okay, sure. I'm sure we'll sort something out."

I nodded. With the assistance of Andrea and Lisa, I already had.

-ooo-

"So tell me," Andrea piped up as we exited the main doors of Winslow. "You and that other teacher don't like each other very much. What's the deal there?"

She was looking at me, so I answered. "It has to do with something that happened back in the day," I explained carefully.

Andrea got it first. "What, you mean back then?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I went to this school."

"Wow," Andrea commented. "What was it like? Was that woman still a teacher then?"

"It was the worst school in Brockton Bay, and that's saying something," I told her frankly. "Gang activity, drug use, outright bullying, teachers not caring, the whole nine yards. About three times as many students crammed into the same space."

"And Blackwell?" asked Gladys.

I looked her in the eye. "She was the principal. I got bullied on a daily basis, and she just turned a blind eye. Even when she was given evidence to back up my case."

"Wow," murmured Andrea, putting her arm around me. "That sucks."

I returned the gesture. "It did. I mean, I wouldn't be here today if it hadn't happened, but it was still very unpleasant."

Andrea frowned. "What do you mean, you wouldn't be here today?"

"Long, long story," I told her. "Tell you when we get back."

"I'll hold you to that," she decided.

Gladys had a thoughtful look on her face. "I'd heard that Carrie was going to put her name up for consideration as vice principal," she observed. "I didn't think much of it. But if she was the principal then ..."

"Hey!" Andrea interjected. "Why don't you put your name down?"

"What?" objected Gladys, flustered. "I couldn't ... could I?"

I slapped her on the shoulder. "Sure you could," I assured her. "We both went through ROTC; that's a perfect place to learn discipline, and how to keep people in line. If I can join the PRT and make captain, you can be vice principal. And maybe principal one day."

"Yeah," Andrea put in. "And if anyone gives you hassle, take 'em out to the range and tell 'em to try to outshoot you." She grinned. "The look on Emily's face was fuckin' priceless."

Gladys didn't answer, but her expression became very thoughtful indeed. I inclined my head toward where Kinsey waited beside the car. "Come on, let's go."

-ooo-

"Turn left just up ahead," I directed Kinsey.

"Ma'am," he responded, and began to slow down, clicking the indicator on at the same time. The tyres of the hire car crunched over gravel as Kinsey carefully drove us down the side-road.

We had been on the road for perhaps an hour after leaving Brockton Bay, heading more or less due west. Lisa and I had gone over the maps for legal camp grounds that didn't actually have on-site staff, and then we had gone over the maps for places where you could camp that the rangers wouldn't find you for a few days.

The place we were going to fell into the second category. There were no fireplaces, no cabins, no running water or other amenities. Of the four of us, Andrea was the only one who had not experienced this sort of deprivation on a non-voluntary basis. But I had faith in her boundless energy and optimism. And the fact that I was there to share it with her.

Kinsey's taking the driver seat allowed Andrea and I to relax in the back seat, with Gladys in the front, and catch up on old times. It had not been an ideal situation; egged on by Gladys, Andrea had cheerfully told Kinsey the story about how she and I had first met, and why I had come on to her in the first place. She did not, of course, explain to him why I had found it necessary to break up Andrea and Anne-Rose, but then, Kinsey would already have noted the resemblance between the two of us.

That led into other reminiscences, such as the fight that had propelled Gladys and myself into the JROTC, and the other one at the senior prom, both related by Gladys. She put a certain amount of enthusiasm into it, and kept Andrea laughing all the way through, while I wondered if my hair was going to catch fire, given how hot my face felt.

Fortunately, they had (eventually) run out of embarrassing stories to tell about me, and Andrea and I teamed up to tell some about Gladys' less-than-whirlwind romance with Franklin. We didn't even try to embarrass Andrea with any stories; we both knew that was a lost cause from the start. She actually told some of her own, voluntarily, which did not faze me, given that I knew her, but had Gladys blushing mightily a few times.

Throughout the whole trip, Kinsey neither blushed, nor cracked more than a slight smile, which spoke volumes about his self-control.

He pulled the car to a halt next to a likely-looking clearing; a lake glinted through the trees in the late afternoon sunlight. We all got out and stretched our legs; I took a look all around, then straight up. The hire car, a dull green, would hopefully blend in with the foliage if an aircraft happened to overfly our ad hoc campsite.

Putting my hands on my hips, I swung my shoulders one way and then the other, popping my spine in a few places. "Looks perfect," I commented out loud. "What do you think, Gladys?"

"Back in ROTC, I would've loved to find a place like this to bed down," she replied, opening the car's trunk and starting to unload the gear. "But they always seemed to find the most uncomfortable places to set up camp."

Kinsey nodded, moving over to give her a hand. "So if you went through ROTC with the Captain, why didn't you go on to the military?"

"Just wasn't my thing," she told him. "I wanted to get married, get a nice safe civilian job. I was only in it because Taylor was. I didn't want to make a career out of it."

And because I told you to stay out of it, I supplied silently. I liked Gladys where she was; safe and out of the action.

Well, mostly out of the action.

Did I feel guilty about asking Gladys for her assistance? Yes. Did I think it was necessary? Hell yes. If I knew for a fact that it would mean her death, would I still go through with it?

I don't like to think about questions like that, because I'm afraid of the answers I might give.

-ooo-

Once we had the camp set up – with four one-person pup-tents – we set out to explore the area. A gentle gradient led down to a lake, now sparkling and shimmering with the reds and golds of a truly gorgeous sunset. Looking back, I was gratified to note that our campsite was out of sight of the lake itself, and (by extension) of anyone boating on it. A loud splash startled me; I looked around to see that Andrea had dropped her jacket, stripped out of her T-shirt and jeans, stepped out of her sandals, and dived in.

I was just grateful, for Kinsey's sake, that she had chosen to wear underwear that day. It certainly wasn't on her own account; for Andrea, body modesty was something that happened to other people.

"Woo!" she yelled when she surfaced. "Woo! Woooooo!"

"So how's the water?" called Gladys, from safely on shore.

"Fuckin' freezing!" Andrea yelled back, splashing up a storm. "Come on in!"

I slipped off my sandals and tested the water with a toe. As Andrea had intimated, it was indeed very, very cold.

"You know," I commented to Gladys, "if we don't, she's going to lord it over us from here on in."

Gladys grimaced. "I wish you weren't right."

We both took our jackets and tops off; Gladys undid her skirt, while I stepped out of my jeans. "On three?"

"On three," Gladys agreed. "One … two … "

"Three!" I shouted, and we dived in.

Andrea had been right; it was fucking freezing.

I surfaced with a gasp, feeling as though I had just jumped into a vat of stinging, razor sharp, ice shards. A couple of yards away, Gladys came up for air; on her face was the expression that I suspected she was seeing on mine.

"Holy shit," she gasped.

"Fuck me rigid," I agreed.

I splashed over to Andrea, who was grinning at the both of us. "Cold enough for you?" she asked, in between the chattering of her teeth.

"You're nuts," Gladys told her.

"Certifiably insane," I added.

"We're getting out," Gladys concluded.

I nodded. "Now. Before hypothermia sets in."

Andrea didn't argue; she'd gotten us in there in the first place, which had been her aim all along. We splashed back to shore and climbed on to dry land. Our clothes were still there, but no Kinsey. I was just trying to figure out how to get dry without wetting my clothes when I spotted him coming back through the trees.

"Ladies," he greeted us blandly. "Did you enjoy your evening dip?"

"T-t-t-too fucking c-c-cold," Gladys replied, then she spotted the towels he was carrying. "Oh god, thank you. You're a fucking g-g-genius."

Wrapped in the towels, with our jackets over the top, we made our way back to the campsite, wearing our sandals; Kinsey was kind enough to carry our clothes. A chill breeze was starting to come up, now that the sun was almost down, and we were grateful for the dry clothes and underwear in our packs. We used the car as a screen to change behind; Kinsey thoughtfully averted his eyes in the process.

While we were doing this, he set up a camp stove, which gave out a certain amount of warmth, and we clustered around it. Andrea, of course, snuggled up next to me. I opened my jacket and put my arm around her shoulders, and she did the same inside my embrace.

"Well, that was fun," Gladys commented, her hair now bound up in a towel. I had never been so glad about having short hair; my scalp was dry under the woollen beanie, after a good hard scrub with my towel.

"In a 'let us never do that again' sort of way," I agreed. "Andrea, I love you dearly, but you're nuts, you do know that, right?"

Andrea giggled. "Yeah, but the looks on your faces … "

"Just so you know," Gladys informed her, "if you snore, I'm throwing you back in the lake."

"Talking about the lake," I commented. "I might see if I can hike around it tomorrow."

"What, all the way around it?" Andrea asked, taking up the cue. "Are you serious?"

"I thought you liked hiking," Gladys teased her; we had spoken about that in the car.

"There's hiking, and then there's masochism," Andrea told her firmly. "And that's a big fat 'nope' from me."

"Well, I'll do it with you," Gladys told me. "If you don't mind, Taylor?"

"Sure," I agreed. "We can take sandwiches and canteens, make a picnic lunch on the other side." I grinned. "It's not like we'll get lost."

"I'm coming as well," Kinsey told me firmly.

I sighed. "I'll be fine," I assured him. "You know Gladys did ROTC with me. We practised getting each other out of difficult situations." I tilted my head sideways to indicate Andrea. "And she'll be staying back at the car. To be honest, I'd much prefer that someone stay back with her."

Kinsey grimaced. I hated putting him on the spot like this, but I really, really needed to not be under his scrutiny, and this had been the backup plan.

"At least tell me you'll be going armed," he finally relented.

I nodded. "Yup. I brought along my Glock. Ankle rig, with a spare magazine in my pocket, just in case I run into something that really needs persuading. Also good for signalling, in case we get into trouble."

That, at least, took some of the tension out of his shoulders. "I shouldn't be letting you do this," he growled, but it was a rearguard action; he'd already surrendered.

"Look," I told him. "We'll be fine. I just need to get out as far away from other people as humanly possible and clear my head. Okay?"

The set look on his face told me that he still wasn't totally fine with the idea, but he'd been outmanoeuvred and he knew it.

"Very well, ma'am," he conceded grudgingly. "But if you're not back by an hour before sundown, I'm going to come looking. And if I don't find you then, I'll be alerting everyone from the National Guard on down. If you get hurt on my watch, the Lieutenant Colonel will have my guts for garters."

I tried for a voice of reason. "You do realise that the main reason you're here as my protective detail is in case DC tries to poach me, right?"

"Protective detail is protective detail," he responded grimly. "No matter what it's for. I'm not going to ignore a potential problem, just because I haven't been ordered to look out for it."

He had a point. "Very well, Kinsey. An hour before sunset, it is." Which would cut into the available time, but that couldn't be helped.

"Thank you, ma'am." He wasn't happy, he wasn't grateful, but he did his best to appear to be both.

Unfortunately, there was no way I could tell him more without letting him in on what was going on, and while there was a chance that he would accept it, I couldn't risk it. Not at this early stage of the game.

-ooo-

The night got chillier as the hour got later. Kinsey rustled up some hot food, which we gratefully accepted, but soon it was time to hit the double-insulated sleeping bags. As we rose from around the camp stove, Kinsey gestured to me. "Might I have a word, ma'am?"

"Certainly, Kinsey." It would do no harm to be gracious after having already won the argument. "What's the matter?"

"In private, ma'am," he told me. "Please?"

I glanced at Andrea, who nodded. "Go ahead," she assured me. "I'll wait."

Clasping her hand briefly, I moved over to Kinsey; we strolled out into the darkness, his flashlight showing the way. By now, it was very chilly; I had my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my jacket, while he wore gloves.

When we were well away from the campsite, and but still able to see the other two moving around by the light of the camp stove, we stopped. I turned to him. "Is there a problem, Kinsey?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am," he replied. "It may be one, and it may not."

I waited. "Yes?" I prompted him.

He took a deep breath of the freezing air, then exhaled it in a white gust. "Your … friend, ma'am. Ms Campbell."

"You mean, my girlfriend, Andrea." My voice was flat. "Are you having trouble with the idea?"

He shook his head. "No, ma'am. What people do in their own time, and with whom, is their choice. None of my business."

"Then what about Andrea?" I asked him bluntly.

He hesitated. "She's been … indicating availability, ma'am. Flirting with me. Normally, I wouldn't see it as a problem, but as you will be out of the campsite all day tomorrow, with Mrs Knott, and I'll be alone with her … "

I smiled slightly. "Ah. I see. Well, let me put your mind at rest, Kinsey."

"Ma'am?"

"Andrea and I are a couple only in that we are deeply attached to one another. I do not tell her who she can sleep with, and she does me the same favour. Do you understand?"

"I … think so, ma'am."

"Let me put it more plainly, Kinsey. If, tomorrow, something happens between you two, that's entirely between you and Andrea. It's none of my business." I paused. "In fact, if she makes a play for you, and you feel like taking her up on it, you have my blessing. Is that plain enough?"

I somewhat regretted the darkness; the expression on his face must have been quite a picture. "I … entirely, ma'am."

"Thank you, Kinsey. Was there anything else?"

He seemed to have recovered his equilibrium. "No, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

As we made our way back to the campsite, he was silent, perhaps mulling over what I had just told him. I was silent also; in my case, it was because I was thinking about what I was going to be doing in the morning.

-ooo-

The inflatable mattress made the hard ground somewhat more bearable, and the down-filled sleeping-bag warded off the chill quite well. I snuggled down inside my pup tent, and was just drifting off to sleep when someone fumbled their way inside.

"Who is it?" I murmured.

"Who do you think?" asked Andrea, with a muffled giggle.

I smiled in the darkness. "What's the matter, your tent not crowded enough for you?"

"Well, you're not in it, so that's one thing," she admitted.

I sighed. Andrea really was incorrigible. "Okay, fine," I agreed, and unzipped the bag. "Come on in."

The chill night air flooded in as Andrea wriggled in with me, and then helped me – with many muffled giggles – to zip it up again.

"Christ," I muttered. "You're freezing."

"You're not," she replied. "You're nice and toasty. Warm me up?"

There wasn't much else that I could do; I embraced her closely, and soon she stopped shivering.

"Mmm," she murmured, brushing her lips against my neck. "I wonder if we could … "

"Not in a sleeping-bag," I told her firmly. "Just nope."

"Spoilsport," she giggled, but refrained from trying any acrobatics in the extremely confined area. Her hands, warm now, slid up my back under my sleeping top. "Mmm, this is nice."

I had to agree with her; it was.

We fell asleep in each others' arms.

-ooo-

Saturday, April 2, 1994

My watch alarm woke me at oh-dark-thirty. I fumbled my way out of the sleeping-bag, while Andrea mumbled vague complaints and tried to snuggle up to me again. But I got her settled down, then stumbled out of the pup tent. I'd left my clothes laid out the night before, under a cover so that the morning dew did not soak them. By the time I was settling the ankle holster into place (I had promised Kinsey) the first gleams of the morning sun were beginning to light the eastern sky.

Gladys was up as well; she approached me, zipping up her jacket. "Well, we're up," she murmured. "Where do we go from here?" Her breath hung in the morning air, as did mine.

"Follow me," I told her, just as quietly.

We started off around the lake, just as I had told Kinsey we would; I did not put it past him to keep a watch, and see which way we went. But once we were out of sight of the camp, which didn't take long in the dawn half-light, I turned us sharp right and began to navigate by way of a compass.

We walked steadily for half an hour, during which time the sun rose and began to filter down through the trees. When we reached the highway, I put the compass away and we turned left, staying in the trees, out of sight of anyone driving along the road. At the half-hour mark, I spotted the clearing up ahead, with the vehicle in it. I also saw something else.

"Okay," I murmured to Gladys. "Hands in plain sight, no sudden movements."

She nodded. "I know. Seen 'em too."

I stepped forward, hands up and in front of me; Gladys followed along. As we did so, three men materialised out of the surrounding shrubbery, each holding an assault rifle. Each of them wore a camo-patterned balaclava, as well as camo jackets, and leaves attached to them here and there. Their camouflage was good; anyone without the training that Gladys and I had gone through probably would not have spotted it.

The taller of the three stepped forward. "Names," he demanded, his rifle centred on my chest.

"I'm Weaver; this is Shooter," I responded. There was no percentage in giving these guys our real names; besides, the names I had given them would have been the names that Andrea told them to expect.

He pulled off the balaclava and grinned, showing missing teeth and a two-week beard. "Call me Strike," he greeted me, offering his hand.

"Good to meet you, Strike," I told him, shaking it briskly. "You brought the gear?"

"Sure thing," he agreed. "Zeroed and all."

Turning back to the vehicle – which I now saw was a battered-looking SUV – he opened the back door and lifted out a long plastic case. Laying this on the hood of the SUV, he opened it, to reveal a rifle.

But not just any rifle. It was a very distinctive weapon; I had known about it from the start, but Gladys only took a couple of seconds to recognise it. "That's … a Barrett, right?" she asked.

Strike grinned again. "Barrett M-eighty-two-A-one," he agreed. "The lady knows her rifles."

Stepping forward, Gladys carefully lifted the gun from its case. She was careful not to joggle the scope as she brought it to her shoulder. She hefted the weight of the weapon with ease as her cheek snuggled in to the butt, and her eye fell in line with the scope.

"Oh, yeah … " she murmured.

"Ever fired one of those?" asked Strike.

Gladys carefully replaced it in the case, closed it, and snapped the latches, before answering him. "Nope," she replied. "But I'm looking forward to it."

"Felt recoil is a bitch," he warned her. "Especially with the specialised high-velocity ammo you ordered with it."

She shrugged. "I've fired rifles before. Springfield's got a kick to it, too."

He frowned. "Maybe we should take it someplace, so you can make sure you're good with it."

I checked my watch and shook my head. "No time." The timetable in my head was indicating that we needed to get moving. "Let's go."

One of the other men went to say something, but Strike cut him off with a gesture. "Orders say that Weaver's in charge. So Weaver gives the orders."

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. At least that bit had gotten through without confusion. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

With Strike and one man in the front, and the other man plus Gladys and I in the back, with the case for the Barrett over our knees, the SUV was a little crowded. It started all right, and bumped out on to the road; the driver wheeled left, and tromped on the gas.

"How long till we get to the airfield?" I called over the roar of the engine. Beside me, Gladys' eyes widened, and she mouthed Airfield? at me. Fractionally, I shook my head.

"Forty-five minutes," was the answer I got back.

"Can you make it in thirty?" I asked.

The only answer was a surge in acceleration.

-ooo-

We made it to the airfield in a little over thirty minutes, but not so much that I was overly concerned. The only aircraft on the strip was a twin-engine prop plane. Its engines were ticking over as we pulled up to the side of the airfield.

I glanced over at the control tower, the early morning sunlight glinting from its windows. "Anyone in there?"

Strike and his friends had doffed their camouflage jackets before getting into the vehicle; under them, they wore ordinary sweaters and jeans. He put on a pair of sunglasses before gesturing at the structure. "Officially, we're a stock standard charter flight. We do a run every few days, just to keep up appearances. Sometimes with paying customers, sometimes with one of our other people. Unofficially, they think we're smuggling weed. We pay 'em to look the other way, and they see nothing."

I nodded. "Layers within layers. Nicely done." I paused. "I believe there was also the matter of a couple of pistols, with shoulder rigs?"

"What, to go along with that peashooter on your ankle?" he responded with a grin. Taking a backpack from the footwell in the front seat, he handed it to me. "Glock seventeens. Brand new barrels, won't raise a flag anywhere. Two spare mags. All yours."

I opened the pack and checked, just in case; the pistols were there, as were the magazines, as promised. Each felt solidly heavy, packed with ammunition.

"Gotta ask, what are you planning on doing?" Strike queried as we headed for the Cessna. "Starting your own private war up there?" I also heard the question he wasn't asking. And why aren't my men invited along?

I looked back at him, through the oversized sunglasses I wore over my normal glasses. "Sorry," I told him. "Need to know."

He shrugged, having expected nothing less. "Oh well, catch you on the flip side."

"Just be waiting."

I let Gladys get on the plane first, helping her with the case for the Barrett, which we settled into the non-existent aisle. We settled into the front passenger seats, and strapped ourselves in. Strike closed the outer door, then banged on the side of the plane. Through the window, we saw him retreat to the SUV.

The engine notes rose to a roar, and the plane surged down along the runway. Turning, the copilot handed us back two sets of headphones. He was anonymous behind a pair of sunglasses, as were both Gladys and myself. I fitted the headphones on, and moved the mic into position.

"Good morning," the pilot's voice came through the earpieces nice and clear. "I'm pleased to note that tailwinds will give us a faster than expected transit, so we should be landing ten minutes ahead of schedule. You will be requiring a return trip, no doubt?"

"Thank you, and yes we will," I replied. "Is there anything else that you need to know?"

"Absolutely nothing," the pilot responded. "Please enjoy your flight. There are water bottles in the compartments in front of you."

"Thank you," I replied once more.

I pulled the earphones off my head, and let them hang around my neck, then gestured for Gladys to do the same. She looked a question at me, and I tapped the microphone, and moved it as far away from my mouth as possible. Comprehension dawned, and she followed suit.

Leaning over to her, I spoke at normal volume, right into her ear; with the noise that the engines were making, absent Tinker-tech surveillance gear, there wasn't a hope in hell that the aircrew could hear what we were saying.

"Okay," I told her. "I suppose you're wondering what the hell's going on."

"You could say that," she agreed, with admirably restrained sarcasm. "Mercenaries? Private aircraft? High-powered sniper rifles? An organisation that pretends to smuggle drugs, just so it can smuggle people? Code names? What are you mixed up in, Taylor?"

"Same business as always," I explained. "Saving the world, one small piece at a time. In this case, removing one man from it."

"Can I ask why? What has he done? Or is it something he'll do in the future?"

"His name's Nikos Vasil," I told her. "In time, he'll become known as Heartbreaker. He kidnaps people using his power, to make them love him, loyal to him. Just in case he becomes a problem to me later, I need to remove him now."

He would, I knew, become a problem. Lisa had told me so. So he had to go.

"And you couldn't send your mercenaries in to kill him?" she asked.

"Not my mercenaries," I told her. "Someone else's." Probably not the time to tell her that Andrea's running her own private mercenary army. As well as our financial empire. "But under my orders for the moment. However, they wouldn't work for this. I know the problems with facing him; if he's aware of you, he can bring you under his sway. They wouldn't understand the danger, but I know you'll follow my lead in this. And you're the best shot I know."

"Is his power so bad that you have to kill him?" she asked.

"He kidnaps celebrities from the street," I told her. "Sees a pretty girl, walks up to her, speaks to her. In seconds, she's enthralled by him. Leaves everything to come with him. He has children by them. Left unchecked, he'll end up with more than a dozen kids by different women." I saw her expression change at that.

"But the police -" she objected.

"Tried," I replied. "The officers that turned up, were turned. Now he's surrounded by innocents, who are fully intelligent, and working for him. They'll happily die for him. So he's left alone."

Her face paled. "Fuck. So you want me to sniper him."

I nodded. "Got it in one."

"What if I can't go through with this?"

"Then I'll do it." I shrugged. "I'm a pretty good shot, too."

"But not as good as me."

"If it's gotta be done, it's gotta be done."

Her face was troubled. "I need to think about this."

"Take your time." I leaned back in my seat.

Placing the headset back over my ears to abate the noise, I folded the mic back out of the way, and closed my eyes.

-ooo-

"You know," Lisa informed me lazily, "if you'd just slept with Kinsey back at the motel, he could be in on this, so all the subterfuge wouldn't be necessary. We could have stuck with plan A."

I told you why I can't sleep with him, I reminded her.

We were strolling along the Boardwalk, hand in hand. To our left was the Bay, but instead of the Protectorate base, my memory palace floated there instead. It was truly impressive, with several new levels added since I last saw it.

"No, you told me why you won't sleep with him," she corrected me. "There is nothing actually stopping you, except fear of the consequences of being caught."

Which are pretty darn severe, for both of us, I pointed out. I won't do that to him.

"And if I told you that you were guaranteed to never be caught?" she suggested slyly.

Then I'd tell you to turn that same infallible analysis on getting the mission done, I told her sourly. Because I know darn well that you can't model my actions, so I mess up your predictions each time I do absolutely anything significant.

She wrinkled her nose at me. "That's just because you like making extra work for me," she pretended to complain. "If you'd just done what I'd said, there was a very good chance that right now he'd be helping cover for you, rather than making it necessary to run around in circles like this."

I shook my head. I don't want to go down that road unless and until it's absolutely necessary, I told her. Until that time comes, we'll do it my way.

We purchased ice creams from a vendor and kept walking. I had strawberry ripple, while Lisa got chocolate fudge. The flavour was spot-on; Lisa was definitely getting good at this.

So what happened to the dragons and the unicorns and the spaceships? I asked casually. Haven't seen them in a little bit.

"Action's all well and good," she noted, "but you've been getting too much excitement in the world outside your head. In here, I think you need some quiet time. Relaxation."

Can't argue with that, I agreed.

"Mind you," she added with a grin, "that first night back with Andrea was pretty darn relaxing."

I coloured. I thought you weren't going to listen in on things like that?

"It's not like I can go somewhere," she pointed out.

And I thought that sort of thing squicked you the hell out.

She shrugged. "Eh, second hand isn't so bad."

I eyed her with suspicion. Wait a minute. Are you trying to get me to sleep with Kinsey so you can experience sleeping with Kinsey?

"Um … no?" She did her best to look innocent, which made her look guilty as sin.

I rolled my eyes. Right.

"Well, on to other matters," she announced brightly. "I've lined up a time and place you can take out Crawler."

He won't be too dangerous?

"He won't have triggered yet."

I nodded. Well, let me know when and where. Do you have a line on Winter?

"I will have soon."

I really hate leaving the Nine alive for so long. Gladys could nail Jack with ease.

"You know why we have to."

Yeah. Doesn't make me any happier.

She put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed, much like the first time we had gotten to know one another. "I hate to use a phrase like 'the greater good', but -"

I sighed. Yeah, I know.

We stopped at a bench overlooking the ocean. Several magazines, or things that looked like thick comic books, were stacked in the middle of it. Lisa sat on one side of the stack, and I sat on the other. I prodded at them. What are these?

"Not sure," she replied. "They popped up in the archives the other day. My power's presenting them like this. This is the first time I've had the chance to actually look at them."

I picked one up. Security?

"With an exclamation mark, no less," Lisa observed. "Looks weird." She peered closer. "Wait a minute. On the cover – is that you?"

Holy shit, it is too. I opened it. A comic book?

"No, a trade paperback," she informed me. "That's what they call a comic book with pretensions of literature."

Right, right, I muttered, leafing through the pages. Holy shit, this is about someone who comes to Brockton Bay … just to help me?

"Oh god, you want to check this one out," Lisa told me, holding out another one. "This is awesome. First page, you beat the living shit out of Madison."

I swapped comics immediately. I want to read this.

By the time I finished, and had stopped laughing, Lisa had started on one that was significantly thicker than the others; on the cover was some sort of multi-winged angel. That's not the Simurgh, is it?

"Nope," she replied, still reading. "But they make that mistake in the story, too. Wow, this person's just too nice for her own good."

I looked at the stack of trade paperbacks. The author names meant nothing to me. Where did all this come from? How can anyone write all these stories?

Lisa shrugged. "No idea. Not even sure where they came from. My power just presented them to me."

I looked at the titles. There's some by different authors. Goblin Queen … Clockwork … A Tale of Transmigration … Amelia … wow, some of this stuff's really bizarre.

Lisa grinned at me. "Well, now I know what I'll be doing for reading material for a while."

I wrinkled my nose. Just don't let it give you ideas.

"Oh, trust me," she assured me. "I don't need that to give me ideas."

Don't I know it. I rolled my eyes.

Thunder rolled across the sky; I flinched. What the fuck?

Lisa grinned. "Ah; I think Gladys wants you to wake up."

Oh, right. She took my headphones off. I stood up and stretched. Time to go kill a guy, I guess.

She stood up as well. "Kiss before you go?"

I leaned in and kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood and chocolate fudge. The rising breeze whipped my hair across my eyes, and I blinked -

-ooo-

- and opened my eyes, looking at Gladys. As I did, the plane banked; I saw an expanse of water rising into view in the window behind her.

Fitting my headset back into place, I moved the mic into position. "We're coming in to land now?"

"Yes, we are, ma'am," the pilot replied. "As I just said, we should be on the ground in five."

I checked my watch. We appeared to be keeping to schedule. "Excellent. I'll let you get back to it, then."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Taking my headphones off, I leaned across to Gladys. "Enjoy the flight?"

"Not every day I get to fly into Canada," she replied, obviously trying to make the best of it. "Uh … Taylor?"

"Yeah?"

"Why the codenames?"

I shrugged. "Same reason capes use them. So no-one can identify us by word of mouth."

"No, I meant why those specific codenames. Shooter I can understand. But what's Weaver signify?"

I paused. "Uh … that's kind of a long story. Can I get back to you on that one?"

She nodded. "Sure. And as for the other thing you want me to do … "

I looked at her expectantly. "Yes?"

"I'll – I'll do it," she told me. "You've been right so far, and if you think this Vasil guy needs to – to die, then yeah, I can do it."

Reaching across, I squeezed her hand. "I really, truly appreciate it, Gladys. You have no idea how much."

"Besides," she told me dryly, "if you tried to fire that thing, it'd break your shoulder."

I grinned. "Which is another reason why I really, truly appreciate it."

-ooo-

Upon leaving the plane, which had landed at another tiny, no-name airfield, we trotted across the tarmac toward what looked like an identical SUV, and two guys who were waving at us. One held a sign saying "W", while the other held a sign saying "S". Gladys carried the rifle case; I lugged the (much lighter) backpack with the pistols in it.

"Strike sent us," I told them as we came within earshot. "You know where to go?"

"Weaver and Shotgun, right?" asked one of the men.

"Shooter," Gladys corrected him, half a second before I would have done so myself. "I'm Shooter."

"Right, right," the other man agreed. "You can call me Moose." He took his right hand from behind his back, empty; I was willing to bet there was a gun holstered in the small of his back. We shook hands, then they opened up the SUV and we got in.

"So, can we know what this is all about?" asked Moose as we started off.

"Point A to point B," I told him, trying to sound bored. "We get the next part of our instructions when we get there. Air traffic control guys paid off?"

"Better," he grinned. "We've got a guy in the tower. He's writing this down as a standard charter flight."

I nodded. "Impressive. I'm beginning to wonder why I didn't sign up for this outfit earlier."

"You're not wrong," he agreed. "When I first heard about it, I thought it was too good to be true, but so far it's been minimal risk, good pay, and occasional work like this."

"Ain't broke, don't fix it, right?" I observed.

"Hell yes," Moose replied. "Got that right."

The rest of the ride passed in silence.

-ooo-

"Well, this is as far as we can take you, ladies," Moose told us, as the SUV crunched to a halt on the side of the road. "When do we pick you up?"

"Best bet, three hours," I told him. "But swing by in two and a half, and every quarter hour thereafter. Be ready to discourage pursuit, if necessary."

"Sounds good," he noted. "Here, let's get you geared up."

Climbing out of the SUV, he opened the rear compartment. "Camo jackets," he noted. "Spotter scope. Baseball caps."

Gladys and I both doffed our jackets, then I showed her how to put on the shoulder holster, before strapping on my own. Each rig had a holder for a spare mag, which we used to good effect.

Over these, we put on the camo jackets; they were a little bulky, at least on me, but they did the job. The baseball caps were also camo-patterned; I felt a little silly putting mine on, but Gladys looked at least three shades more badass when wearing hers, so I felt better after that.

I took the case for the spotter scope and slung it over my shoulder, while Moose stuffed our discarded jackets into the pack that had held the pistols. "I'll hold this for you?" he suggested.

"Good idea," I told him, and turned to Gladys. "Well, you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she replied, slinging the rifle case – it had a carry strap – over her shoulder.

"Good." I turned back to Moose. "Go on," I told him. "Just don't forget to be back at the right time."

He nodded, closed the rear compartment, and got back into the vehicle. We heard the gearbox grind just a little, before it started off, crunching back on to the road. Gladys watched it go, then turned to me. "Now comes the route march?"

"Now comes the route march," I agreed, kneeling down and unstrapping the ankle holster. "Do not need this on my ankle every step of the way," I noted, stuffing it into one of my jacket pockets.

We headed off the road, along a pathway that was barely visible to the naked eye. I only knew it was there because Lisa had told me that it was. It wound through the trees, up and over small rises, and through the occasional narrow stream-bed.

"Where are we, anyway?" asked Gladys.

"A little way out of Montreal, actually," I told her. "It's where he's got his estate."

"How does he pay for stuff like an estate?"

I nodded to concede her point. "Well, he certainly doesn't pay rates. But as for money itself? He gets his love-slaves to go out and commit crimes for him."

She looked sick. "And if they get caught, they do the time."

"Yeah. This guy uses people as puppets. Worse. If you're caught by him, there is no way out. And you don't even want to get out. You're devoted to his every wish, forever."

I heard her take a deep breath. "Well, you're certainly not convincing me not to shoot him, that's for sure." She paused. "When he's dead … what happens to his slaves?"

I frowned. "Not sure. Hopefully it'll wear off, in time, and they'll be able to go back to having normal lives. After, you know, a metric ton of therapy." Which was basically what Lisa had told me. I hoped it was true, and not something she'd said just to keep me happy.

"So shooting him will be basically killing their Messiah," she mused. "And they'll hate us forever for it."

"But it's for their own good," I agreed. "Life's kind of sucky, that way."

"Is it always like this for you?" she asked. "Saving the world, and having no-one appreciate it?"

I snorted. "Something like that. But I know that you appreciate it, and so does everyone who actually knows what I'm doing."

"Oh, I do," she told me. "Just like I appreciate you getting me away from Blackwell like that."

"Yeah, well, you and I both know she was just trying to rope you in to do the extra work for her," I noted. "Has she done that much before?"

"Once or twice," she admitted. Which I translated in my head as 'quite a few times'. "But not any more. She can't pull that 'seniority' crap on me any more."

"Good for you," I told her. "And if you can get that vice principal position … "

"She'll never be able to hold it over me again," she agreed. "Actually, talking about that … "

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Carrie Blackwell was the principal when you were at Winslow, your first time around, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

She paused before asking her next question. "I was there too, wasn't I?"

"Yeah, you were," I told her. "Computers. I was in your home room."

She blinked. "... oh. Wow."

"Yeah." I grinned at her. "I've always liked computers."

"Don't I know it," she replied, with an answering grin, then her expression turned serious. "Uh … what sort of teacher was I?"

"Well, you were my favourite teacher at Winslow," I told her honestly. "You just gave us work and left us to it. As opposed to Mr Gladly, who would get us together into class projects, which opened me up to bullying, and then did nothing about it when it happened."

She blinked. "Oh. Right. Well, I'm glad." A pause. "Did you befriend me because of who I was – am – will be?"

I shook my head. "I stepped in to help because you needed it. I don't like bullies. I liked you before I ever knew who you were."

She smiled, pleased. "That's … really good to hear. And … Franklin?"

"You married him anyway," I assured her. "It just took a few more years."

She stopped and looked at me. "Well, before we go any farther," she told me, "I just want to say something."

I stopped, also. "Yeah?"

"You're a good friend, Taylor. And apart from what you're doing to save the world, I appreciate what you've done to help me, personally. It was because of you that I went to ROTC, and got the confidence to do what I'm doing. It's because of you that I'm with Franklin now. So … thank you."

She enfolded me in a hug, and I could do nothing but hug her back. I felt moisture in my eyes, and I caught her in a sniffle as well, as we disengaged.

"Well," I told her, and cleared my throat. "Now that the touchy-feely bit is over, shall we go and kill some bastard?"

She bared her teeth in what might have been a smile. "Let's."

End of Part 4-3