Hell Hath no Fury
Newton NJ 0500 hrs, 25th of June, 2008 She slouched in the camp chair on the small deck, staring dully at the view of the town just below and beyond. Her third can of rock star for the night sat forgotten on the small table at her right elbow. The cold wind whipped her hair, now shoulder length, back and forth across her face. The rain continued to fall as a translucent curtain off the roof just in front of her. A few drops blew in under the it, and her clothes had become damp. She neither noticed, nor cared about any of it. It really had been a nice situation, back when she'd cared to think about it. She was a very particular sort, mid-level manager material, and the Taskforce knew it well. They'd made every reasonable effort to please these little concerns and desires of her's in their hopes to secure her cooperation, or maybe even her loyalty. It would take more than giving her the lifestyle of her dreams to secure her loyalty, but at least they had tried. She'd once been an emerging eco-terrorist, and hard training and indoctrination notwithstanding, she maintained the philosophy that the environment must be defended just as human life, if not more so. To give her the usual luxuries, then, would clearly be counter productive. So it was that she got a small, humble plank house right on the edge of Newton, and only a modest car, just large enough to carry her gear, and fuel efficient to the max. They'd insisted upon it just in case transport was unable to reach her. She'd even got them to make it a hybrid. She didn't use the car much, certainly not to commute, as the house was within a good run's distance of the office building where she worked as an environmental law firm's high ranking paralegal. That was, of course, when she wasn't out researching evidence of environmental abuse, gathering material for the next newsletter, or just maintaining the lifestyle they all struggled to protect and defend. At least, that's what her coworkers and boss thought. They didn't have a clue, either about her violent past, or her more violent present. So, as critical as she was of the establishment, the establishment had done a nice job of letting her remain outside it as much as possible. Not that she cared about any of that right now. In fact, she saw neither the intentional humility of the rustic deck and chair in which she slouched, nor the wild beauty of the countryside surrounding the town. She saw, or noticed, little of anything. Rock Stars considered, she couldn't even muster the energy to complete her minimal five mile run for the morning. She hadn't completed one in several days, actually. Nor had she been to the mandatory training sessions at the gym. She wondered if they would enforce those on her. It wasn't like they needed her anymore, with her captain gone. It was the training, though, that had started it all. Eric had insisted on two or three times the training required by the Taskforce, cover jobs or not, and she'd taken joy in them. It seemed missions would be few and far between for Beta team, and it was an excuse to be close to him, to see him in action, his lithe body moving with such agility, grace, and ease, the long muscles flowing over hard bone . . . Yes, she'd wanted him, like she never had another man before. She wasn't pure, by any means. As a liberal and a rebel she'd subscribed to the radical feminist notion of exercising power through sex early on. Of course, it hadn't worked any better than most of the hair brained schemes and ideals rebels hatched, but it had been a part of her life. Here, though, was a man that she respected, couldn't use, didn't have to defend against his using her. In fact, rather than treating her as an inferior or subservient woman, he'd treated her exactly like the men in the group. He must have worked with women he considered to be his equals in the past. She relished the true relationship, professional as it had remained, as well as the heart and mind that promoted it. To increase her admiration and respect for him, in all of their operational closeness he'd never made a move on her. Candy - as she'd taken to calling herself in accordance with Eric's usage - was an attractive woman, and she knew it. She could make full use of her straight, reddish brown, full bodied hair, smooth, bronzed face with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin, and a body with nearly perfect proportions and well defined but not overdone musculature. She was a woman that many had pursued in their time. She'd swung back and forth between taking advantage of her natural beauty to seduce them before trying to prove to them her superiority on the one hand; and going wild on her various adventures, pointedly dis-regarding any demands on her appearance, on the other. Even then, some seemed to find her attractive. Since being taken by the Task force she'd managed to find a measure of respect for herself, gotten cleaned up again in accordance with Rebecca's wishes. Still, Eric had, it seemed, seen her just as any other teammate. There was Paige, she supposed, with whom he had some sort of a connection. That, and whatever else was eating the very private soldier, didn't leave room for a romantic relationship with her. That fact hadn't stopped her from enjoying her time training with him, though. It was that training time that had first alerted her to his absence. He hadn't called to make sure she'd be there. She'd always awaited those calls, even when everything in her cried out that she insist on taking a break. And the call hadn't come. He was never late, and she waited there for five minutes, then ten . . . Maybe something was holding him up. He had his cell phone, being required to, so he still could have called her, right? She debated calling the hospitals, quickly discarding the idea. He wouldn't turn himself in, and if someone else turned him in to a hospital, she didn't know what name he'd go by. Probably not the one he'd used with them. And besides, their existence as a team was supposed to be secret. The Task force, then. Gray or Rebbecca seemed to know everything about them. But what if he hadn't called her because he didn't want them to know where he was? He'd hinted that such might become the case at some point. That's when she'd decided to take matters into her own hands. Gearing up with the weapons and ammo Eric had insisted she ferrite away at her own place, concealed beneath stylish clothes designed for the purpose, she'd driven the motor vehicle up to his place beyond the other side of town. All his things were there, but not he himself. Nor was there evidence that he'd been there in the last few days. He'd shown the three of them how to get past his security and into his place, but even doing so, she found nothing to tell her what was going on. Lacking any useful tracking skills, she'd given up and called the SH at this point, and possibly initiated the search for the one she'd come to love. Of course it proved futile. A month passed, and no sign. She told herself all sorts of excuses, good reasons that he would be gone without having abandoned them or having died. They'd last for a day or so before her logical mind would shoot them full of holes. The denial had passed into anger; anger at him for not letting her in on whatever he was doing, anger at the Task force for not getting him back, and then for even trying, anger at Paige for drawing his attention away from her, anger at herself for not winning his love. It didn't matter. She'd just been angry. Even the anger was gone now, and she was left with nothing but her forgotten rock star, and the rain that pelted her face and soaked the front of her teeshirt as the wind shifted. The clothes offered almost no protection, and she shivered, her skin covered in goose bumps, but lacked the energy to do anything about it. Cindy was depressed. It was the hunger pains that finally brought her back to full consciousness of herself. She knew how to eat quickly, and did so, even as she gathered some things from around the house and planned her next move. Funny how the mind worked. A moment ago, the only move she'd considered, if that, was from the chair out into the road. Maybe someone would hit her. Or pick her up and try to make a move. Then she could be angry again. And a moment later she was planning a complex covert investigation. She barely paused to dry her hair a little, and stopped short of changing her shirt or putting another on over it. She had the usual sports bra on underneath, and it might work in her favor, after all. What it was with men and wet tee-shirts, she couldn't figure, but she had no problem taking advantage of it. A fleece vest and rain parka to keep her from getting too chilled, just a dash of the right perfume, chosen by Rebbecca for its effect on men, in combination with Cindy's own pheromones, and Cindy was out the door. Unfortunately, she'd have to take the car to get into the safe house and Tiny's location. ------------------------------- Safe House 1 0600 hours. She parked a couple blocks away and ran the intervening distance, entering via the garage behind the bar. The small workout would add to the effect of the rain and cold on her face and body. Now that she had a purpose, she was full of energy. Then there were those three rock stars to help. Her breathing slightly heavy, her hair soaked anew, she blew into the command center and carelessly whipped off the jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair within his peripheral vision. It was early, he was tired from a long night shift, and no one else was there. Perfect. Not that it would bother her if others observed the next phase of the operation, but they might hinder his acceptance of her act. She flipped her hair, water spraying forth in all directions, slowly unzipped the vest most of the way revealing the wet teeshirt and sports bra beneath, and sauntered slowly toward him. He'd almost certainly pick her up in the reflection off his monitor. They'd been trained to do that. Making the most of her appearance, Cindy nearly slid up beside Timothy, letting a hand drop to his shoulder. He flinched, clearly trying to ignore her, and doing a bad job of it. “Hey Tiny” Her voice was somewhat husky, her breath just a little heavy from the run. “How goes the hunt?” “Uhm. Yeah. You mean, for Eric?” He'd had his eye on her in the past, and thought maybe he'd have a chance, for the first time, with a girl who wasn't more of a techno geek, or just a geek, than himself. But then there was Eric, and here she was, in all her delicious desirability, talking about him. At least he might keep her around a little longer, even if she didn't respond quite as he wished. But he had to seem professional about it, whatever he actually wanted. “Yeah, that's the one. Sort of abandoned us, don't you think?” She pouted, letting her voice droop a little, and leaned closer, her breast momentarily grazing his shoulder. A quick intake of breath indicated his awareness. It was working, but she had to be careful. She couldn't be too obvious. The idea was that she was attracted to him, but disliked the concept of becoming vulnerable in such a relationship. That and the mandate for professionalism among teammates. So she had to seem to resist her apparent attraction. She deliberately pulled away a few inches with a muttered apology, her fingers brushing along his shoulder before she dropped both hands to the desk top beside him, leaning on them, elbows locked. “Oh, 's all right.” It took him a moment to bring his mind back on-track. “Uh, yeah, abandonment. Don't worry, we'll bring him back in. Have you seen what I . . . erh, we can do with this stuff? He doesn't stand a chance.” She leaned farther forward, a little to the right, her shoulder brushing his, seeming to scrutinize his screen. “So you have something on him here? I thought some other agency had taken over the search.” Just the slightest pressure back, from him. She almost pulled away at that point. It wasn't that he was unattractive, not after Kihn's and the Taskforce's training. In fact, with the change to contacts from glasses, and the constant workouts, particularly in climbing for him, he looked rather good for a computer geek. It was just that she didn't really care for him. Nevertheless, she was a woman and an actress, and she could do this. She returned the pressure just a little, turning her head toward him, hair falling half over her face between him and his screen. They were quite close at this point, and her effect on him was readily apparent to her. Still, he managed to refocus, and smirked at her comment. He was trying harder to resist her than many men had. “Yeah, they think they have the corner on the information market, but their people aren't the only ones that know their way around a network firewall. I've got my own ways.” She rotated putting her other hand on the opposite side of his keyboard. Now she faced him, tight blue jean clothed hip propped against the edge of the desk. She filled his awareness with her nearness, hard, wet, and full of life. Half of him wanted to pull back to a more comfortable distance as even in Europe this would have been considered an invasion of personal space. The other half was enjoying every bit of it, longing for more, wanting to breath her in, to drown in her eyes, her breath, to be absorbed in her beauty and warmed by her body. He stayed where he was, only shifting a little in his seat to get more comfortable. And then she spoke. It had only been a moment as she turned, before she spoke, but it had seemed like an eternity. “That is so cool!” She almost purred her response. “So you can keep tabs on their search, and maybe we could get to him first? I don't think this other agency will mean him any good if they catch him, and we're not doing much good as a team without him.” It was true. They'd been de-activated since his departure had been discovered, until further notice. None of them had enjoyed the intervening month, training with no hope for a real case. She had Timothy where she wanted him, but didn't want to go too far too soon. She pulled back, now sitting upright on the edge of his desk, a more respectful distance back between them. He sighed, half in disappointment, half to regain his breath, and carried on the conversation. “Yeah, I could probably tell you what they're up to right now, if you gave me a moment.” Her eyes glowed as she put a hand back on his shoulder, sliding a little closer, not too close now. She couldn't let him forget why he was doing this for her, where his loyalty would lie. “Would you? You know, I bet we” a slight emphasis there, “could do one better. We could give some of the information we find to Eric, enough to keep him away from this other agency, while using the intel they've gathered to catch him ourselves!” She slumped a little, not quite satisfied with her plan, and let her idle fingers trail down his now-well-muscled arm till they rested at the crook of his elbow. “But how would we do that? We can't let anyone else know what we're doing.” She wouldn't tell him everything, but would let him think he'd come up with at least part of the plan. This would give him ownership in it, ensuring that he'd be less likely to back out or tell, should the real purpose become clear. He leaned forward, trying to get a good angle on his keyboard, relishing the contact this forced between their arms. He began to type feverishly, translating the tension that had built up within him at her nearness, into his work, explaining as he went. “Oh, that won't be a problem at all. I'll just set a text message to piggy back off our regular reports, which are transmitted via satellite twice a day. It'll reach his PDA, and he'll see it when he next checks it. Of course, we'll have to encrypt it to be read only by his PDA, with his password. We went over this contingency, remember?” “Oh perfect!” She all but hopped off the desk, bent over behind him and draped a damp arm across his shoulders. She could tell he was warming up to the contact, no longer so nervous about it. “Can I draft the message, please?” “Uh, all right, but don't put too much in it. Don't give the origin away. Here's what we've got so far.” “All right, uhm, what's this mean?” She twisted back toward him a little, even as she moved a leg in front of his chair to better get at the keyboard. This, of course, made it hard for him to see what she was asking about, forced him to lean a little to the side. The awkwardness of their positions only re-enforced the effect on him. “Well, they got a call from their mobile search team, . . . ended up looking for sat-intel. . . . uhm, they're being re-deployed by helo to a car dealership just north of Newton.” “Uh huh. Okay. So where do I type the message?” Her fingers already rested on the keyboard, so he slipped his in under hers, typed a few commands, and brought up the message editor window as she left her long fingers draped over his. She knew some of this already, but it could only help to make him feel wanted. Or so she hoped. Reluctantly, he drew back. “There you go. Type away.” And yet, he didn't move to give her the space, and it would be uncomfortable to type standing up. “uhm, Tiny, you mind if I sit here, for just a moment?” “Oh! No, not at all. I just didn't think . . .” He started to rise, bumping into her. “No, no, you can stay there. Just let me. . . .” She shoved him back into his chair, and, as though it were perfectly normal, sat down on his lap half facing the screen. Her body now fully blocking his view, she typed quickly, what she hoped would convey her meaning to Kihn, but not to others.: “NEMY TRAKING BY SAT. 6 HRS BHIND. LOOKING SOUTH. HELO TRANSPORT. GD LUCK. C&T.” She quickly hit enter and sent the message to the que, before he had a chance to review it. “Awww. I seem to have lost it!” She slumped, disappointed, her arm falling down to her side, to his chest. She sighed, then continued when he remained silent for a moment. “Oh, don't worry about it. I'm sure everything will work out. But DO make sure we haven't left any traces, okay? I wouldn't want you to get in trouble for me.” She lingered there for another long moment, one hand on his chest, the other on his arm. When she judged the time to be right, she leaned forward slowly, letting her eyelids droop as though she were seeking his lips. Then, almost at the last moment, she re-directed herself slightly upward and kissed him quickly on the forehead before standing abruptly and taking a step away. Now there was no doubt her breath rate was elevated, heavier than normal, and the flush to her cheeks might have been caused by more than just her run to the SH. He sat there, mouth slightly open and loose, breathing hard and watching her, obviously expecting, hoping for more. “Well, thank you sooo much, Tiny. You're such a doll! I'd like to do this again sometime?” A hand back on his arm momentarily, as she leaned back toward him. Hopefully, that would renew any hope that had just been dashed. Then she withdrew. “Uh yeah, okay. Achem. Can't let that other agency have full control, can we.” “oh no. looking at alpha team, I get the impression some nasty stuff went on over there. I'll be back again soon. She beamed a dazzling smile at him, turned, and flounced back to her coat. In another moment she was headed out the door. Unfortunately, it wasn't over yet. Another techy arrived, coming a little too close as they both approached the door, pointedly looking her up and down with a stupid grin plastered on his face. The agents didn't come in here too often. Oh, how she loathed such men. Have to wipe that grin off his face. She threw a sharp elbow across his chin as reward for his trouble, and blew past. Now to the bathroom and a thorough wash. No, there was nothing wrong with Timothy, compared to most other men, but she hated compromising and acting in such ways contrary to what she truly desired. She felt dirty, somehow. This wasn't the power the feminist press had promised. It was selling herself out. But Eric was worth it, and she knew she'd have to do more before the end, in-order to keep Tiny in line. Even so, she scrubbed the soap vigorously over her arms as the hot water pelted downward, washing away the physical, if not the mental vestiges of his touch. Return