“Yeah. I think I do.” She teased. “Maybe you need to make things a little clearer for me?” Smoke raised an amused eyebrow. “I am just a stupid ‘lab-rat’, after all...” Smoke laughed, sighing:
“Fine. You’re hot. You know you’re hot, and you know that I’m hot...for you. But I swear to fucking God...if you aren’t topless and kissing me in the next twenty seconds, I’ll have to go grab one of those idiot jarheads, instead. How’s that?”
“Crystal clear, thank you,” Yvonne grinned, pulling Smoke’s lithe body forward.
XI – Hydra
~ Kayla ~
28/11/2023
“So they think they’re going to...what...get sent to Guantanamo Bay? The journalists, I mean?” Meg slurred a little into her overfull glass of merlot. She gulped down a few mouthfuls, prompting me – the Australian, for God’s sake – to reach a warning hand out in her direction. Her left eyebrow was hoisted like a sail: raised so high that it was threatening to scrape plaster off the ceiling. She was trashed. At two in the afternoon. And she wasn’t slowing down. But...I will admit...the level of coherence she was managing to maintain was actually sort of impressive. At another time, and in another place? Hell...I might have even been urging her on.
We were at the dinner table. Naithe was late – still at the high school, discussing something or other with the rest of the teachers – even though he was meant to be on leave – so it was just Meg and I for the time being. She reached pathetically across the table in the direction of the wine. I sighed, rolling my eyes and passing it over.
Whatever. Just let it happen.
She took it gratefully, pouring the glass back to brimming before refilling mine for me. She shook her head with a snort of irritation, muttering some vicious little rejoinder about, I think: ‘incompetent fucking hacks’.
“If by ‘sent to Guantanamo Bay’ you mean: ‘shot in the head by FBI agents’, then yes. Totally. They totally think they’re going to be sent to Guantanamo Bay.” I shrugged. “But it’s more than that. It’s also about the public, and keeping things calm. I mean...think about it for a second: would you want to break this story? It’s not even a break; it just makes things more complicated.” She made a face.
“Even still. Isn’t this what you people are paid for?”
“‘You people’?” I repeated back with amusement. “What do you mean: ‘you people’?” She folded her arms, waiting expectantly for her answer. I sighed, tacitly complying with her unspoken request that I speak on behalf of my entire...fucking...profession: “We’re paid to report the news. There’s not really any news here, just...more questions with no answers. Honestly, it would be unethical to bring any of what I’m telling you up until we know more. Journalistic ethics are important, after all. That is a factor, here, with the stakes as high as they are.”
In reality, what I should have said was that journalistic ethics were important...to me. While it made me feel all warm and fuzzy to imagine that my approach to ethics was a universally shared, high-minded commonality among all journalists – that we were unified as a kind of last best hope for freedom, transparency, and...other, similar stuff that was equally hard to pin down – the truth was that there were plenty of journalists who would have traded in every principle they had for a few inches of copy within ten or so flips of a publication’s cover. And there were even more who’d have done it for half of a fucking bagel and a cold cup of instant coffee, so...yeah. There was quite a range, there.
“Yes. But the logic sounds solid.”
“The logic in...what? Peddling a stripped down, questionable reinterpretation of officially released data as evidence? Journalists report on the ‘who’, ‘what’, ‘when’, ‘where’, ‘how’ and ‘why’.” I tapped my index finger rhythmically on the table, emphasising each word with a kind of pained exasperation. She knew this crap. “Who? Some people. What? They disappeared. When? The last couple of months. Where? America, and now a couple of other places. Maybe. How? Unknown. Possibly fucking magic. Why? Unknown. It’s seriously tempting to fill in the blanks and flesh out that list with speculation; I’ll be the first to admit that...but that’s not what we’re here for, and it would be misleading and wrong to do it. It’s not journalism.” Meg looked a little depressed...though, to be fair, that could have been all the wine. Still...I felt bad that I didn’t have more for her.
“Thanks for chasing it up, anyway. I really do appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem. Are you going to run something up the flagpole?” She nodded.
“Everything you’ve got, if that’s okay. It’s not like Craig’s looking to put it out there...he just wants to know. Honestly...what’ve I got to lose?”
With the ‘Craig’ thing again?
“Sure.” I nodded, leaving out my cynical misgivings on the subject. “Just uh...leave me out of it. You can call everything I just told you yours, if you want. I can email you my notes later tonight, too.” She raised an eyebrow.
“This is toxic, isn’t it?”
“Like raw sewage: very, very probably.” I nodded. “I’ll keep looking at this for you, just in case I run up against something that’s actually solid.”
“Naithe told me you were getting a bit...obsessive.”
“Yeah, just a little,” I laughed. “It’s stories like this one that made me want to do this in the first place. Hard nuts to crack.”
“I prefer my nuts pre-cracked,” She shrugged. “But I am good at telling people why all the nuts except the ones I’m selling are terrible. Or, if I’m feeling really competitive, how the other nut-vendors eat babies and bathe in the blood of virgins.” I made a crucifix sign with two fingers, affecting a horrified grimace.
“Fucking spin doctors.” She laughed evilly.
“Fucking hacks.” She threw back, holding up her wine glass in a dainty, hopeless ‘cheers’. I reciprocated, and our glasses clinked together with a satisfying briskness...denoting, I hoped, closure.
§§§
Meg and I finished the bottle of wine and started on another before Naithe arrived home and gave her a lift back to her and Eli’s apartment. After she left, I just sat there for a short while, lost in thought. The one thing I hadn’t mentioned to Meg was the idea that had been obsessing me: my own, personal theory on what was happening. It had occurred to me several days before, and...since then...I hadn’t quite been able to dismiss it.
I told myself that I hadn’t mentioned it because it was ridiculous. The reality was, I hadn’t told her because it made me profoundly uncomfortable.
It was, ultimately, a very simple thought. It had probably occurred to quite a few of the other people working the story. It was, after all, difficult to avoid: the observation that it was as if these people – these thousands of people – were simply leaving. Leaving their lives. By choice. And going...where? Somewhere that they couldn’t be followed, or detected, or traced. It certainly fit the Objectivist model.
So what if that is what’s happening?
I sighed. That was the part that made me uncomfortable. Imagining for a second that it was the case...it just raised all these new questions. Worse questions. Questions like...why these people, in particular? If it’s such a secret, why did it almost seem to feel as if they wanted people to notice something strategic about it? And then the big one:
What comes next?
XII – Damascus
~ Yvonne ~
28/11/2023
“Get up.” Smoke kicked at the mattress. Yvonne rolled over to see the blonde woman buckling her belt.
Smoke already had a fresh blouse on, and her rumpled suit jacket was slung unevenly over her shoulder. She was wearing short, stylish heels in place of the oversized boots Yvonne had been getting so very used to.
“It’s like that, is it?” Yvonne murmured sleepily.
“Like what?” Smoke’s head tilted to the side – eyes curious – as she continued to get ready. She grabbed for a hair-tie, pulling her hair back and into that taught, char
acteristic ponytail.
“We’re heading back to Palatine Hill today, aren’t we?” Smoke nodded, tossing her jacket to the side and pulling her dual side holsters over each shoulder. She nodded, pausing.
“Yeah. I hate that fucking rabbit warren too, but hey: what’re you gonna do?”
“No, I mean...what happens on leave stays on leave, right?”
“Since when were we on leave? I don’t get leave.” Smoke grabbed the jacket; slouching into it, before fastening the cuffs as her hands protruded from the ends of the sleeves.
“You know what I mean.” Smoke sat on the edge of the bed.
“Not...really.” She shrugged, inspecting her watch. Yvonne couldn’t quite tell if she was playing dumb, or if she was sincerely unsure about the issue at hand.
“I’m saying...that we had fun, but now we’re going back. So I assume you don’t want to have to think about...” She trailed off. Smoke looked over her shoulder at her, raising a confused eyebrow. Yvonne exasperatedly gesticulated; miming out a decent approximation of: ‘You? Me? You and me?’
“Are you kidding?” Smoke laughed, finally getting it.
“I just thought that it might be...y’know: an issue.”
“I don’t ask Wright where he sticks his dick – and you know it’s nowhere healthy with that shifty motherfucker – and the policy goes both ways. Everyone else is either too far beneath me to have a right to give a shit, or too far above me to have a reason to.” Smoke shrugged.
“Even so. I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to...” Yvonne trailed off.
“Again, are you kidding me? I’m fucking smitten, here, you idiot. Why would I want to hit the brakes on this?”
“Fuck this, then,” Yvonne grabbed for Smoke’s shoulder, pulling her back onto the bed.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Smoke laughed, half-heartedly attempting to fight Yvonne off as she went for the blonde’s belt, deftly unbuckling it and pulling it free of her: “I just finished getting ready! Stop!”
“You don’t want me to stop.” Yvonne straddled her – grinning a predatory grin – pressing herself down and against the other girl. “You’re smitten, remember?” Yvonne’s long, chestnut hair cascaded down and around Smoke’s face, head, and neck like a privacy screen.
“Oh, you bitch: you’re gonna make me regret that, aren’t you?” Smoke chuckled. Yvonne nodded.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” As she slowly, sweetly kissed Smoke’s lips, the other woman ran a tender, exploratory hand down Yvonne’s naked back.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Smoke murmured, eyes closed, as their lips parted. “The way you look...the way you feel...is heaven.”
“I’m more than just a pretty face...” Yvonne smirked her way into another brief, promise-laden kiss.
“Yeah...but I can’t fuck your brain...” Smoke grinned, pressing up and into Yvonne’s kisses with new insistence. “Fortunately...there are ‘options’.”
“So do something about it.” Yvonne taunted, rolling off of Smoke; feigning disinterest.
“Lady...” Smoke growled, unbuttoning those grey dress-slacks of hers; shimmying them down her thighs: “I barely know where to fucking start.”
§§§
An hour later, Smoke and Yvonne finally made their way out to the small, slightly beaten up convertible.
“Y’know who drives convertibles?” Smoke had asked on that first night, when they’d emerged from the Manus Inc. building that the elevator from Palatine Hill opened into the lobby of.
“Who?” Yvonne had asked.
“People who have nothing to hide. Why the fuck else would your car have no top?” Yvonne smiled, remembering the exchange. The psychology there was flimsy; happenstance at best. But it was the first time Smoke had said something that made Yvonne laugh...and, obviously, there was at least a grain or two of truth, there...baked into the banality of the observation.
“What did you do before this?” Yvonne asked, pulling open the door of the convertible. She and Smoke both climbed in. Smoke reached into her pocket, pulling out a hair-tie.
“It’s a convertible.” She explained, holding it out for Yvonne.
“So: what did you do?” Yvonne reiterated, tying her hair back. Unlike Smoke’s straight, blonde hair, hers was dark and curly...and she was unable to prevent a mess of ringlets from hanging loose, framing the front and sides of her head like a diadem.
“I’m sorry, Rabbi, what was that?” the very tip of Smoke’s tongue poked through the teeth of her broad, shit-eating grin. Yvonne burst out laughing.
“Oh fuck you,”
“Again?” Smoke smiled, pulling out and pulling the car in the direction of the open road. “You’re fucking insatiable.” Smoke waited for Yvonne to finish laughing, before raising her voice above the roar of the wind and the angry rumble of the tired, put-upon engine. “I was CIA. A field agent. Y’know...the kind that aren’t really meant to exist?” Yvonne noticed Smoke’s expression darken.
“When’d you...” Yvonne trailed off, searching for the right word. “‘Leave’?” She finished awkwardly. Smoke shrugged, hands tightening on the wheel. Her knuckles were white, lined and edged with bright, angry red. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead. “We don’t have to – ”
“ – No, fuck no: let’s do this.” Smoke almost shouted, pushing the car well above the speed limit for a few seconds before calming herself down and easing off the accelerator. Smoke glanced reassuringly at Yvonne, letting her know she wasn’t angry. “We were in Bangkok,” She resumed: “There was a Dragon cell, there. Have you heard of Dragon?” Yvonne wracked her brain, but came up empty. She shook her head. “Nasty fuckers...Chinese covert agency. Government, technically, but they answer to no one. Not quite deep cover, more like...ghosts. Off the grid. Totally off the fucking grid, y’know? Long term sleeper placements...underground enforcers...that kind of shit. Bad news. Bad...fucking...news.” Yvonne nodded. “Well, we had some Intel that a Dragon cell had been the ones to hit the US embassy in twenty-seventeen. You remember that shit? The uh...hold on. I’m gonna pull over.” Smoke pulled the car over into a rest stop. They sat there for a minute in silence; Smoke still gripping the wheel with all her strength, her teeth clenched together and her eyes set directly ahead. “Fuck,” she growled, pulling back and slamming her fists into the steering wheel, making the horn bleat anxiously, and the dashboard rattle. Throwing open the door, she unclipped her seat belt and jumped out of the car; slamming it behind her.
“Hey,” Yvonne – far more restrainedly – got out of the car and moved around to where Smoke stood; palms pressed into the tops of the guard-rail: shoulders set like stone. “I’m sorry. Seriously, we don’t need to do this.” It took Yvonne a second to realise that Smoke was holding back tears. She took a deep breath, and then began to talk:
“The US embassy in Bangkok was bombed in September of twenty-seventeen. We went over in March of twenty-eighteen, after ASIS got word that a Dragon cell had been responsible for the bombing. See...the Chinese Government had been intending to throw everything they had at Taiwan. The new Government – Song Jianxun’s people – wanted to distinguish themselves, apparently. They got as far as following through on trying to misdirect the US, and implicate the Taiwanese. The first half worked like fucking clockwork; the second half...not so much. ASIS got a hold of a Dragon operative, and...yeah. Once they found out what they found out, they let us know. Never get tortured by an Australian if you can help it,” Smoke cocked her head, getting a strange, wistful look in her eyes. “Apparently they’re pretty fucking good at it. Dragon are notoriously hard to get anything out of; even compared to other covert agents. So...”
“You’re sure that’s what happened?” Smoke snorted.
“We both know how it works in those situations. Someone makes the call...or you do: usually just...whoever has the balls to decide one way or another, unless it’s from above. Then you take ‘em someplace quiet...secure. And then you do what needs to be done. ASIS got
us that Intel, so...”
“So someone did what needed to be done.” Smoke nodded. Yvonne moved to clutch the rail next to Smoke...letting the top of her right arm and the top of Smoke’s left press together. Smoke threw her a small smile.
“So we were in Bangkok. There were five of us; three of us ex-military. I’ll skip the lead-up and just get to it.” She inhaled sharply. “We had a location. It was this big warehouse, way out of the city; out in the middle of the farming district. They weren’t meant to be expecting us. Me and this kid, Ed – sharp, but it was his first real op, so I guess you could say I was babysitting – we went around back while Aaron and Felix went for the front, and Layla hung back...y’know: just in case. I’m not sure when they hit Layla...but I never saw her again, so it was almost definitely before they went for the rest of us. Me and Ed...we heard gunfire, and I’m motioning for him to follow me around the side. I get my back against the wall...I’ve got my Smith & Wesson primed, and then there’s this distant ‘pop’ sound. I know that sound. Ed doesn’t. So I’m hitting the ground, and a split second after I start to drop, Ed just...fucking crumples after me, the better part of his head gone.”
“Sniper.” Yvonne murmured.
“Yeah. Sniper.” Smoke nodded solemnly. “Now...my brain’s going a million miles an hour, and I’m thinking...‘That? That was a good shot’. Judging from the ‘pop’, the gun was a good way away, and snipers like some time to set up: to get comfortable with their surroundings, and get ‘zoned in’. Fucker must’ve had a premium vantage, too...and that takes time to scout out. So...there are two things I know: first...I’d better stay the fuck down, or I’m a fucking dead woman...and – second – that we were set up. The whole reason we picked that place, at that time...was that they should’ve only just relocated there. The op should’ve been textbook. It was either our tactical support people, or it was the ASIS guys. Now...I was an Agency girl back then, all the way. I lived the mission. Believed in it. But ASIS got us that intelligence. And, just like us, they bled for that op. Every step of the way. Even in the moment that I realised what was happening...I just couldn’t buy ASIS as the leak. And you know how it goes; once you start doubting...there’s really no coming back from that.” Smoke paused, having trouble continuing. After about half a minute, Yvonne broke the silence:
Abyss (Songs of Megiddo) Page 16
