| Subject: Redemption 3 |
Author:
Rox
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Date Posted: 20:52:02 12/15/01 Sat
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "Redemption (Sequel to Mea Culpa)" on 20:54:56 12/13/01 Thu
Somewhere in foothills of the Colorado Rockies. . .
The surrounding aspens had already begun to turn golden, and their leaves shivered in the stiff September breeze that blew through the camp. The air was filled with the sweet wood scent of campfires and the malodorous stench of diesel exhaust from the many generators and military vehicles that were parked about the area.
Folding tables and portable gun racks displayed weapons and ammunition set out for sale and trade in the center of the camp. General purpose medium tents, called GP Mediums by the many ex-GIs, were pitched in several locations to support training classes on everything from bomb-building to desert survival to field surgery.
Mowen pulled the camouflaged Hummer under a tree and turned off the engine. Michael pulled out a small set of binoculars and looked down the hillside into the camp, waiting for the signal. He watched as a small wooden podium was placed on a portable stage. Next to it was placed a large white cross and, on the opposite side, a red, black and white flag. The man who placed the flagstaff into the ground stood back and gave it a stiff-armed salute. Michael nodded to Mowen.
“Let’s go.”
* * *
Section One - Madeline’s Office
Nikita seated herself on the couch in Madeline’s office. A moment later, Madeline came over and sat in a comfortable chair opposite her. “Have some tea, Nikita. It’s fresh.”
Nikita reached over and took the delicate china cup and saucer from Madeline’s hand.
“Is this a test to see if my table manners are still good?” Nikita quipped as she took a sip. Madeline smiled and took a sip of her own tea. Teaching Nikita proper etiquette had been a struggle three years ago, but Madeline was quite pleased at how well Nikita had turned out.
Ignoring Nikita’s question, she asked, “How did the introductions go?”
“Fine. I’ve been invited to watch him shoot this afternoon -- does that mean we are engaged?”
“Not quite, but it’s a step. Continue the profile this afternoon. Tonight we are having him taken to the off-site location under sedation. You’ll meet him there and suggest a trip outside.”
Nikita understood that the off-site location was an identical mockup of Section One. It was used whenever the location of Section could be compromised by an untested operative. Brandon would fall asleep in his Section cubicle and wake up across the city in an identical room. After Nikita took him “out,” if he could remember the way through the “maze”-- the underground tunnels at the off-site location -- and wanted to tell anyone the location of Section, all he would reveal was the location of the mock site.
“Where ‘outside’ do you suggest I take him?” Nikita asked.
“I’d suggest a pizza place for dinner, then maybe one of the clubs downtown. His profile suggests a fondness for alternative and country and western music. Lead him, don’t push him to talk. Birkoff will keep you under surveillance at all times. He’ll feed you information if you need it.”
“And later?”
“There’s a gun show in town this week, along with a popular lecturer on the White Supremacist movement. Ask him to take you. We also have a safe house that will double as your apartment should he insist on getting intimate.”
Nikita’s face went scarlet, then pale, in a matter of moments. “Is that an essential part of the scenario?”
“You know the answer to that question.” Madeline’s expression became hard. “There are innocents at risk here; weigh their lives against your virtue. And if that’s not enough, Nikita, ask yourself this question: Would you do it to save Michael and Red Team?”
“What does this have to do with them?”
“A lot. We are running parallel missions. If we can’t get our information through Brandon, Michael and his team will have to get it another way -- the hard way.”
* * *
Nikita stood, with arms folded, and watched as Brandon fired into the paper target at the end of the range. His skill was as impressive as he had bragged, and Nikita wondered how early his parents had started him in the use of firearms -- before or after he was weaned?
“Wow! You are good!” Nikita said, removing her ear protection and looking at the target and its closely grouped holes.
“Do you shoot?” Brandon asked, pleased with her praise.
“Enough to get by -- it’s kind of expected here in Section.”
“Show me.” He ejected the clip from the pistol, popped another one in and chambered a round.
“Okay, but don’t laugh, okay. I have trouble with pistols.” Nikita replaced her ear protection and took a standing firing stance in the firing lane. She popped off three rounds before Brandon stopped her.
“Look, you aren’t watching your breathing, and you’re too loose in your grip.” He stood behind her and reached around to steady her hands. What surprised Nikita was how kindly he had spoken and how gently he touched her. It seemed out of character for a Neo-Nazi.
“Okay, try again.” Brandon stood behind her, helping to steady her arms. “Hold your breath and squeeze the trigger; don’t jerk it -- ease it back.”
Nikita fired off another three rounds, showing great improvement, for which she showered credit on Brandon for his instruction.
“Ah, you did it yourself. You just need a little confidence in yourself.” He smiled at her, and two dimples bracketed his smile.
Nikita’s heart skipped a beat. When he smiled, Brandon could be devastatingly cute. He had big blue eyes with long dark lashes. The only thing that spoiled his looks was the skin-head haircut.
“Hey, you want to go out for pizza tomorrow night?” Nikita asked.
“Out? Of here? How?”
“Oh, I can get us out. I have a Level-3 clearance. Want to go?”
“I don’t have any money to take you out,” Brandon said seriously.
“You don’t need it. It will be my treat.”
Brandon shook his head. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way. Where I come from, the man pays, the lady doesn’t. It’s just not right.”
Nikita was stunned -- he was old-fashioned! At 18?
“Well, is it proper for a lady to make dinner at her house for a guy?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” He sounded reluctant even then.
“Come on Brandon, please? I don’t meet many guys around here that I like.”
“Nikita,” Brandon asked, suddenly very serious, “how did you end up in Section?”
“I… uhmm, I killed a cop.”
Brandon didn’t smile, instead he looked almost sad. “I’m sorry, Nikita. It must have been terrible for you.”
“Yeah, it was.” Nikita didn’t know what else to say. The profile of a cop-killing Nazi just didn’t seem to fit the Brandon before her.
* * *
“Madeline, things just aren’t following the profile. He’s not the cold-blooded bastard that he’s supposed to be.” Nikita paced in front of Madeline’s desk.
“Why are you surprised? I told you once that nothing is as powerful as your own femininity. Brandon’s in love with you. Love changes people.”
“But how can he be a cold-blooded killer one minute and suddenly change into Mr. Nice guy the next?”
Madeline folded her arms and cocked her head to one side. “Does he sound like anyone else you know?”
With a start, Nikita realized Madeline meant Michael.
“Just do the job, Nikita. Focus on the outcome. Brandon may know where a stolen nuke is hidden. Why steal a nuke unless you want to use it or blackmail someone? As ‘sweet’ as he may seem, he is still the enemy. Don’t forget that.”
Nikita nodded absently, still bothered by the Madeline’s comparison of Michael and Brandon.
“Have you discussed going out?” Madeline asked.
“Yes, but that’s another thing -- he won’t go out because he says he doesn’t have any money to take me out. And he won’t let me pay… ”
“That’s unexpected,” Madeline commented.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought too, but I have talked him into coming to my apartment for dinner. For some reason, that’s okay.”
“Can you cook?” Madeline asked with a smile.
“Well, sort of… ” Nikita said with little confidence.
Madeline laughed. “Don’t worry. That’s easy to take care of. Find out what he likes to eat. Has the subject of the Nazis come up yet?”
“Not yet -- tonight for sure. I think he’s ready to open up a little with me.”
“Good. Don’t push it too hard, but remember, time is the enemy here. We have to find that nuke before they use it against us.”
“Have you heard from Michael and the team?”
“They are in place and are awaiting instructions,” Madeline replied.
* * *
Colorado
“Damn! It’s getting cold out there!”
Michael was seated next to a small butane heater when two men pushed their way inside his tent.
“Hi! Sorry to intrude. Do you mind if we get warm a minute? It’s starting to snow out there.” The man laughed and rubbed his hands together.
“No, please, take a seat.” Michael gestured to a couple of lawn chairs that were stacked in the corner.
“Thanks. I’m Joe Eastman, and this is my son Todd. And you are?”
“Michael Kenner.” Michael reached out a hand and both men shook it before unfolding the chairs and settling in.
“Nice to meet you, Mike. You’re a new face. Is this your first visit?”
“Yeah, although I’ve been to plenty of meetings in Texas, Louisiana and Alabama.”
“Well, I hope you are enjoying your visit. What do you do for a living?”
“I make and sell guns. I have a new prototype Smiautomatic rifle that I’ve brought, hoping I’ll get some orders.” Michael reached behind him, lifted the weapon, popped out the clip and checked to see that no round was chambered, before handing it to Mr. Eastman.
“That’s a nice weapon -- you built this yourself?” Eastman sounded impressed.
Michael smiled. “Well, me and my Dad built it. It has a laser sight,” Michael pointed to the features as he explained them, “an adapter that will allow you to fire two sizes of ammunition, a built-in wire cutter, and I can build them to automatic specs, if the need arises.”
“Sounds like an outstanding weapon. How come you haven’t tried selling to the military? You could make a fortune.”
Michael snatched back the rifle. “The military is why I built these in the first place! I don’t sell to the enemy!”
“Sorry! Look, just testing you a little. Ever since McVeigh screwed up, we’ve been kind of jumpy with new faces.”
“That’s okay. Sorry I lost my temper. You’re right -- everyone’s been a bit jumpy lately.”
“How much are you going to be charging for one of those?” Interjected Todd, pointing at the rifle in Michael’s hand.
“At the moment, about $400.00, but if I can get some backing to mass produce them, I hope to get the price down to about half that.”
Todd’s father added, “Well, if your rifle performs well tomorrow, I have connections with some folks that I know will be interested in investing. And there’s are lot of white-collar types out here -- doctors, lawyers and several pretty well-heeled businessmen -- I’m sure if they’re impressed, they’ll put in some advance orders with you. I wouldn’t mind having one myself.” Joe chuckled.
“What do you do?” Michael asked, putting away the rifle.
“I have my own business -- started with a Chevy dealership in Pueblo and ended up selling HumVees. They are really hot-ticket items lately.”
“Yeah, I know, my friend David owns one. He drove us down.” Michael smiled.
“Well, glad to meet you, Mike. You coming to any of the rallies tomorrow?”
“If I’m invited.” Michael smiled and reached out a hand.
“Consider yourself invited. I’ll drop by tomorrow afternoon, and you and your friend can go with me.” He shook Michael’s hand and patted his son on the shoulder, “Come on, Todd, if we run, I think we’ll make it back to the cabin before we freeze to death!”
Once Michael was sure he was alone, he signaled Section that he had made his first contact. That accomplished, he lay back on his cot to wait for Mowen and Phillips to return. The more mundane duties having been performed, he began to think about Nikita and her assignment. He drifted off to sleep with her in mind.
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