"From Whence Does My Help Come?"
Section 1 office March 21, 2008 "You will be hooded and ear muffed, and will go with an escort" Kihn smiled slightly, derisively, or that was his intent. He was never certain that his outward expression had the effect on people he intended, though he could usually read theirs. It was primarily because the expressions weren't genuine, most of the time. It wasn't that he didn't feel, but that he made such a practice of suppressing his emotions, lest they cloud his judgment, that many times when he did express emotion it was whatever seemed appropriate at the time. It seemed appropriate at this time to deride the efforts these burocrats were making at operational security. He could have pushed the issue, argued the futility, or pointlessness of the measures they were taking, but he wanted more just to get away from them, from this place. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for, the presentation of a hope unexpected and unlooked for, but for which he'd held onto life. This was the freedom they'd all sought, almost since realizing the reality of Section 1, if not before, and there was no way he was going to pass it up, or take death, just to avoid some discomfort or humiliation. Besides, they'd trained him for such things as this. He thought he could deal. Meeting the escort, Kihn took the earmuffs and hood, putting them on, pausing for a moment to regard the escort. The look was clear. "I can still kill you if I choose to, even with these things on." The look was unnecessary, as he would simply do his job as ordered, and do it well, and Kihn would not try anything having no reason to. Both men knew how things stood with the other, and that understanding would make for an easier relationship over the course of the trip. It was the role, the game they all played, and Kihn did not see himself as being above it, not if he was jockeying for position in this new agency. There was, or soon would be, no question of that state of affairs. Kihn never had, probably never would be able to tolerate any less than the highest command he could handle. He had to advance, to be the best, and to lead others to prevail. Although they took unfamiliar paths out of Section1, things were otherwise much as they would have been any time he'd exited the facilities in terms of his ability to determine their location. He'd heard that some were allowed to leave Section 1, live on the outside on a probationary basis or some such, but the chance had never been given to him. For whatever reason, he'd always been on close quarters standby in between missions. When going to and from the HQ on missions, the first and last portions of the trip had always been in windowless, dark vans. He'd grown familiar with the sounds and feelings of the roads approaching the place, but that was insufficient information to determine its location in the world. He'd determined when embarking on his first mission with Section 1 that there were no unique scents to reveal even the nearby geography, whether they were near a large body of water, an industrial area, or otherwise. When they wanted to, Kihn concluded, they were good at hiding their location from their own.He'd been unable to make any determinations, nor even suppositions earlier when allowed the use of his senses, to some degree, so he really lost little in that way by being deprived of hearing and sight all together now. It would probably make him sick, lessen his estimation of the passage of time, and prevent him from communicating with others. These encumbrances would be difficult to deal with, but he'd dealt with difficulties before. All it took was a little concentration, a relaxing of worry and tension, and he would descend into that state in which his physical condition would cease to matter to him. That was, at least, how he hoped it would occur, how he used to do it before . . . He pushed the thought from his mind, immediately deriding himself for that small aggressive act. The meditation required the fullest pacifism he'd ever been able to muster. He was off to a bad start, and already, as the van was underway, the physical discomfort began to get to him. He took what breath he could inside the hood, swallowed, and tried again to relax, to focus. The meditative state he sought still failed to envelope him, and the Snowy Owl did not come to help. It was as if he were saying that this was no longer good enough, or rather, that this was the wrong way. He would have to go some other way to find help from his old guide, but Kihn did not yet know which way that was. For now, in lieu of meditation, he just drifted off into an uncomfortable, fretful sleep. The sickness didn't seem to come over him as much when he was out in this way. Eventually the journey ended somewhere else in the world, or perhaps they had gone around in circles for some hours. He had no more idea of where he was in the world than he'd had when he started, but was used to the feeling after a year and a half with Section 1. The escort directed him, by gentle touch, to remove his hood and muffs. The room that greeted him was as ordinary and non-descript a government beurocracy office waiting room as he might find anywhere. Again, no clues, unless he considered the one way mirror as such, but that was to be expected, and a lack thereof would have been the more surprising. The literature on the end tables, also, appeared to be generic, in several mainstream western languages, and published in several nations and regions. No clues there, at first glance. It did not occur to Kihn to worry over the lack of knowledge. If and or when he felt the need to know, he could find out easily enough where he was, or where he would be, he trusted. "Wait here. You will receive further directions. Good bye." With that brusque statement the escort turned on his heel, and exited quickly through an ordinary door into an ordinary corridor. A cut out then, was the escort. He might know where Kihn was coming from, and where this leg of his trip took him, but would not know where he was going, who he would become, or who his employers would be. They, in turn, might know as little about where Kihn had come from, who he had been, or who his employers had been. Of course, anyone hiring him would have a dossier, but certain things were kept secret even among government intelligence agencies, if not the more so among them. As a result there need be no direct link between Kihn's former life and his future one. Kihn did not even catch a glimpse of the room number, if there was one, on the opposite door. Again, it didn't concern him, but he'd been trained to notice such things, as well as any lacks there of. First things first. Kihn walked the perimeter of the room, tracing lines with his eyes, and then looking in the often-overlooked spaces in between. He found several surveillance devices, and left them alone, and saw several other places where others might be. Having circled the room completely twice at a leisurely pace, he tried the door and found it locked from the outside. Having heard and seen no one, he began to move inward in his searching spiral. He failed to find anything of note, did not expect to, but the locations of things were in his head and he might be able to use them. If, for instance, this were a means to the end of his cancellation, his familiarity with, and his mental map of the room might give him the needed edge over any attackers. Kihn grew bored after a time, but such was the life of the hunter, and he had not lost that patience in his time in Section 1. Once his explorations were complete he sat in a seat in the center of the room, facing the one-way mirror, and stared straight ahead for a time. He did not focus on the mirror, or on his image in it, nor did he stare into space. As he'd learned to do he focused on an imaginary point approximately five feet beyond the mirror, and scanned back and forth. He could not see through it, thus, but those watching him would feel as though he were looking through the room they were in. It would tell them that he was aware of the situation, and might be disconcerting to a degree. One of the people would be right there. . . Kihn focused on the spot, looked the "person" up and down, and moved on to where the other would be, right there . . . and repeated the routine. The one would be the superior, or more outgoing of the team, and the other the subordinate or more introspective. Thus was their perception of their advantage over Kihn that came with their observation of his movements removed. They still knew more of him than he did of them, but they needn't be fully aware and understanding of their advantage. Kihn looked at his hands for a good five minutes, sitting palm down on his knees, as he sat slightly back in his padded chair. He then glanced over to the magazines on the end table nearest him for a time, scanning the pictures and titles that greeted his eye more carefully. He did not expect to see anything of interest to him, but the possibility existed. More relevantly, the directions he'd been told to expect might be contained in one of them, or otherwise pre-placed and hidden in the room. He reached over and picked up the first, had it mid-way to a position in which he could comfortably read it, when he heard a sound of rubber sliding along carpet to his left and a wall panel located beside the one-way mirror slid out of the way, revealing a man entering the room from the one behind it. Kihn's left side was facing the sound as he stood, legs bent slightly, weight forward slightly, magazine rolled tightly and held against his right leg, his body between it and the man entering. Anything could be used as a weapon if necessary, but it was better, generally, not to advertise the fact. The man placed an attaché case on a small table beside the open wall panel and smiled with fake warmth toward Kihn,the usual plastic smile of the beurocrat who wanted to gain the confidence of his clients. He lifted a hand to shake, the other raised, palm out, in an obvious attempt at a signal of peace. Kihn held his position and waited as the man approached. The magazine was in his right hand, and he'd have to put it down to shake this newcomers hand properly. He had no intention of doing so yet. The man sighed a little, and showed a slightly more genuine smile of apology, as he stopped and waited a comfortable distance from Kihn, and spoke. "Hello, Eric Schweig. I'll be taking you from here. My name is Grey. I'm in charge of the recruitment element of our business." The greeting was curious, Kihn thought. It was not his given name; Eric Schweig but the man used it as such, putting slightly too much emphasis on it. "Hello. You ARE Eric Schweig. I will show you your next life." So that was how it would be. A new identity with the new employment. Not a bad deal, he supposed. He was, after all, dead according to Section 1 records, and before that, according to the rest of the world's records and perceptions. If Kihn Waiting Bear began signing checks and forms and such, it would raise too many questions. It might also raise certain of his enemies that he very much preferred to keep in the dark concerning his existence, location, identity, and activities. At least the new agency was trying to do a good job of things, making a show of doing its homework. The man's language was English, his accent, if such it could be said to be, typical street New Yorker. As though he had been practicing for a while. The man was two men, led two lives, as did many intelligence and deep cover agents, Kihn concluded. His figure and bearing conveyed the same effect to Kihn's practiced eye. He was well dressed, the clothing bought with a moderately high price tag, but comfortable, certainly not standard Government Issue. He was a relatively large, middle aged man, well muscled, as one who works out to remain that way. He carried himself, also, with the confidence of one that few dared mess with, and who had been trained to handle himself if they did dare. It was not, however, the movement of a professional fighter, soldier, or martial artist, but more of one who occasionally got into fights, and would get out by use of strength, brutality, and superior firepower. He did not appear to carry a weapon, probably a precaution to allow for maintenance of plausible deniability were he ever caught. A bar owner, bouncer, or body guard, perhaps? Kihn subtly laid the magazine down on the seat behind him, and reached forward to grasp the man's hand, a plastic smile of his own plastered on his face."Thank you, Grey. How do we begin?" The man did not appear to notice the magazine, let go of the hand after the proper interval, and responded."We go to our testing center, where your qualifications for employment with us will be checked, mental and physical. He regarded Kihn for a moment. "You didn't bring much with you. Neither did the others, so I presume you don't have things stashed anywhere else in town. We'll go directly there and deal with the practicals afterward. Are you ready?" Very abrupt, the way they were doing these things, Kihn thought. But such was often the way of things when operational security was at stake. The less time and knowledge an operative/agent had to prepare, the less opportunity existed for the mission to be compromised. Of course, there were many exceptions to the rule, and once on a mission an operative would be more effective if he/she knew more of it and had been more prepared. It was all a matter of striking the right balance. Whether these people had done so or not remained to be seen. "As much as I will be until I learn more." Kihn replied neutrally, while allowing the slight question to come through in his voice. "Now THAT," Grey reposted cheerfully "will come with your success in the first phase of testing. Come with me." Grey took the briefcase on the way out the wall panel door, which closed and locked behind them, the magazine still on the seat where Kihn had left it. They exited the observation room and descended in an elevator from what was, apparently, the eighth floor of the building. Kihn could not help but feel the anticipation build as the elevator doors opened upon the lobby, allowing him his first glimpse of the region of the "Outside" in which his new life might begin. Return