Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer and other information in part one.
-----
My meeting with Mr. White finished quickly, all our plans being laid out. If this project succeeds. . . Well, I don't even want to think of the possibilities, but all of them are of a large benefit to yours truly. Now to add the finishing touches to the day's work, and then I'll be on my way home to a relaxing evening of wining, dining, and binding. I allow a smile to creep to my features at the thought of what awaits me at home in my secret closet.
It is, of course, right at this point that I hear voices drifting from the vicinity of Jarod's cell, and one of them has a distinct accent. Only figures that he'd finally, at the worst time, find the balls to go searching for Jarod. I bet he even used that thing to help him out.
As I turn the corner but remain hidden in the shadows (God bless the poor lighting in the sublevels of The Centre!), Sydney's accented voice seems filled with incredulity. Actually, it sounds as if he is genuinely amused as he asks Jarod the one question that manages to sneak under my skin and really piss me off.
"You trust Lyle?"
Jarod, the good little puppy that he is, promptly asks in return, "Don't you?" It is at this point I decide to make my entrance. Maybe I'll give the old man a heart attack from the shock!
"Well, don't you? Sydney?" I allow my anger to seep into my voice, knowing it will, if nothing else, cower the thing standing next to Sydney. Sydney, on the other hand, is not so easily cowed, but I'll work on it. I firmly believe that when I'm through with this place, everyone will be begging to lick my shoes! Sydney shoots me a slightly amused look (Does the man have any looks other than variations of stupefied?) and rolls his eyes, but I continue on with my tirade.
"I see even you found this little needle in our haystack," I say, advancing into the room further, planning to intimidate the thing as best as I can (Which, honestly, isn't very hard, now is it?). "I wonder how?" I hiss at the thing, following it until it's cornered. "I never liked you. I'm not even sure what the hell you are." It cowers slightly, bowing his head and shuffling away. Good. It needs to learn its place. If I remember it, I'll be sure to stick it in Renewal Wing for a little reeducation sometime this week.
I glare at the thing a little more, just to get my point across, but the clock is ticking, and we need to get moving. "Come on Jarod, time to go." I pat Sam on the back like the cute little doggie he is. So obedient, and he knows better than to bite the hand that feeds him, unlike the other occupants of the room.
Sam unlocks the cage and Jarod just stares stupidly. Yawn. Nothing knew, You'd think he'd learn how to make other facial expressions by now, right?
"No injections this time, Jarod." Sam shakes the pill bottle he's holding in front of Jarod's face, as if that would help explain everything in the world. People do the strangest things, like talking louder and slower when dealing with someone who can't speak their language. Yes, because doing that really helps them to understand the nonsense they think you're spewing at them! People are morons.
Sam hands the pills to Jarod, and he blinks and stares at them for a bit, then asks the stupid question I expect him to ask (He's so predictable! Now tell me why Miss Parker has failed to capture him before now? Oh wait, nevermind. Stupid question.).
"Sedatives?" Dumbass.
"Jarod!" Sydney exclaims suddenly, as if to make his presence known again. The good doctor just can't stand being ignored for longer than ten minutes, can he? Sheesh.
"It's okay, Sydney. I prefer to sleep through this," Jarod says to placate Sydney, though I suspect it's more just to get the doctor to shut the hell up. Maybe it'll work. . .
"Jarod, don't!" Damn it. Oh well, at least it's driving Jarod to take the pills. I almost let my glee escape, but I catch the grin before it can fully form on my face. Things actually seem to be working out for me!
Sydney turns around, probably thinking that somehow he'll manage to confront me and make me change my mind. Right. Because, clearly, dreams are now reality. Stupid dog.
"Lyle, I won't allow it." Oooh, he's all authoritative sounding and everything! Wow! Well, when Sydney decides to lay down the law, then I just gotta follow, right?
Ha, hell no.
"Deny the sweet sorrow if you want to, but you two are parting. So, be a man." Instead of a dog for once! "Say adios." God, he's so attached to the Lab Rat. Honestly, aren't doctors supposed to not get emotionally involved? Why on Earth have we kept him around this long?
The two embrace, as expected. Oddest. Relationship. Ever. And I've had some pretty fucked up ones!
"Good-bye, Sydney," I hear Jarod partially whisper, as if it's the biggest secret in the world and big, bad Lyle can't know about it! Puh-lease.
They finally let go of each other and Jarod walks up to me for inspection. Ah, he knows the routine. So easily trainable, this one. Now, time to check to make sure he's not trying to pull one over on me, but I doubt that. I have gotten him so well trained he's probably even willing to lick my shoes clean after I go for a walk in a dog park.
I grab him by the cheeks and move his head around, checking his mouth. He has really bad breath. I must remember to make sure he gets a mint or something on the plane. God, I can barely breathe!
"Tongue," I command, and like the good doggie he is (bad breath and all), he lifts his tongue and I check underneath it for the sedatives. Nothing at all. I must admit, I'm a little disappointed. I was so hoping to torture him just a little bit more before shipping him off.
"Thatta boy," I say, patting him on the head. He'd make such a lovely pet. If only he were Asian. . .
Time to go, though. Time is running out. I turn to leave, stopping just long enough to issue an order to the beloved (Pff, yeah, by brainless freaks!) doctor.
"Sydney, put him away," I say, making a small motion toward the thing that's curled in on itself over there.
Sam grabs Jarod and leads him out of the room with me, and Jarod sends one last, sad look to Sydney. Yes, that's it. Motivate the doctor to pester me some more. Great. Thanks a lot, asshole. And here I thought he was on my side for getting Sydney to shut up.
I walk with Sam and Jarod part of the way in silence, then split off from them and head back to the office. So much to do, and oh-so-very little time. In a couple of minutes, one of my problems will be solved, and the solution to another will be put into motion.
I don't think today can possibly get any better.
-----
The phone rings next to me, and I clumsily reach for it, more distracted by the hunt for my missing DSA. Where the hell did that get off to?
"Lyle," I say tersely, digging through a drawer at the same time.
"Mr. Lyle." Sam. Why is he calling? "We have a problem, sir."
Oh, shit.
"What kind of problem, Sam?" I ask, my relentless searching ceasing for the time being.
"Well, sir. .." I can hear the hesitation in his voice. This is just plain screams "not good!"
"What?" I grind out, my patience pretty much exhausted now. I have a minute amount of patience for each day, and between this and having to deal with that thing and Sydney down in Jarod's former cell, it's gone.
"Jarod escaped, sir."
"WHAT?" I shout, standing up and sending the chair flying toward the wall behind me.
Jarod. Escaped.
Again.
Fuck!
There is nothing but silence on the other end. Damn it all. I feel like destroying something, and something pricey at that. I grab at the nearest thing (some artifact Daddy dearest has lying around the office) and hurl it at the wall, satisfied when it shatters and the sound reverberates throughout the room.
Okay. Better now. Less seething anger, more thinking. Always a good thing.
"How did he escape?"
Sam relays the entire story to me in detail, telling of his and the other sweepers' ineptitude. Lovely. And, of course, that rat bastard didn't take the damn sedatives. I bet he passed them off to Sydney or something. I'll have to remember to interrogate the old man a little later on, when there's less shit flying off of the fan.
"So Mr. White just disappeared after the plane crash?" Not good at all. He needs to not be running off to God-knows where right now. No, he needs to be going to do his damn job!
"Yes, sir."
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
"Get out of there and get someone to clean up the mess in the woods," I instruct quickly and hang up before Sam even has a chance to respond. He'll be dealt with when he gets back here. Renewal Wing sounds rather pleasant for his return.
I need to get in contact with Mr. White. If everything I've worked for has just been destroyed, I will personally tear Jarod limb from limb, and I'm gonna start by ripping out each and every single piece of hair on his body. With jumper cables.
I allow the pleasant image of Jarod screaming in tortured agony to wash over me for a minute, calming me considerably.
I pick up the phone and dial the number Mr. White has given me as his cell number. I can only hope he didn't lie to me. Something has to go right today, right?
The line rings a few times, then he answers.
"White."
"Mr. White, it's Mr. Lyle. I heard about the mishap. Are you all right?"
"Yes, Mr. Lyle. No major damage has been done, though I should inform you that Jarod did take some of the information on Silence."
Son of a bitch. Just what I don't need: Jarod sticking his nose where it most certainly does not belong! I really should have cut that thing off when I had the chance!
I sigh heavily out of irritation, then ask if he still has everything that he needs for Silence to be successfully completed (That is, of course, if I can manage to make sure Jarod doesn't get involved.).
"Yes, Mr. Lyle. I have the blueprints and everything I need. Tell our clients and Raylor that as soon as our inside person gets the ETA, Silence will go down flawlessly this time."
Flawlessly. If that doesn't sound like a salesman trying to sell me a lemon, I don't know what does!
"Flawlessly? What exactly do you mean by flawlessly? The Nash family will actually be killed this time around?"
"Well, the C-4 will catalyze the on-site accelerant and burn white-hot." He has an obtuse answer for everything. It's rather irritating, especially since Jarod likes to do the same thing. At least Mr. White's response are coherent and you know, smart.
"Will there be any links back to us or the corporate customers in the debris?" Have to keep the people paying the bills happy, you know. Plus, I'd lose a lot more than just another thumb if The Centre was ever implicated in any of the things we've been doing!
"Well, even if someone could dig through the debris, our corporate customers can rest assured that there will be no trace of even the timing device that survives. Oh, I guarantee you, there will be no trace left of the Nash family or anyone else that happens to be in that building."
"What about fallout in the surrounding areas and buildings?"
"Any residual fallout while just help mask the ID of our intended targets. I'll contact you when I'm in place."
The line cuts out. Done like a true salesman. I must admit, Mr. White is damn good at his job. Damn good indeed. Now I only need to make one more call, and then I can get out there and try to hunt down that rat bastard.
I grab the handsfree version of the phone. I just know I'm going to be pacing like mad. If there is one person I can't mouth off to, it's the man I'm about to call. Big Mutumbo. God help me.
I dial his direct line and prepare myself for what could possibly be the beginning of the end for me. God knows Mutumbo has a tendency to act out on his every whim.
He picks up, and my heart has literally stopped beating. I am going to die today, I can just feel it.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
I begin to pace as I explain the situation to him. I stop and squeeze my eyes shut when the last words leave my mouth, hoping that he won't order sweepers to kill me where I stand.
After a long silence, he finally speaks, though it is in his native language. That means he's probably too angry to speak coherently in English. Fuck.
One thing you should know about my illustrious boss is that he is long-winded. The man can just go on and on and on and on and on! Right now he's explaining to me how ironic it is that Jarod has escaped. Repeatedly. Using different phrases and descriptions each time. If it wasn't so damn irritating, I'd have to say it's quite impressive that he's that verbose.
But, God damn, it is irritating.
"Yes, Mutumbo. I understand clearly every word that you are saying and I assure you that the irony of Jarod's escape is not lost on me either." I rub my forehead during my pacing and stop behind my desk, my frustration and irritation clouding my judgment.
Of course, Mutumbo calls me on it, and I'm forced to try to cover my ass and suck up as best as possible in the situation.
"Facetious? No, no. Of course I'm not being facetious."
I sure hope that didn't sound like I'm trying to cover my ass. It's probably best not to dwell on that, so I cue up a picture of the Nash family on my computer. Soon they will be just a memory, and I'll finally be fully in charge of this place. Everything is coming to be as it should. Now if only Jarod were locked up in a cage somewhere deep underground, all would be perfect.
Speaking of Jarod, Mutumbo has been prattling on about him for some time now, saying exactly the same thing ten different ways.
"Yes, I understand the importance of reacquiring Jarod as it relates to Silence, but, as you know, we have an inside person, so our friends at Raylor can rest assured-"
It is at this point that Sydney waltzes into my office and I tense up, knowing I have to choose my words carefully now. Why does everyone think I have an open-door policy around here? I don't! Get the hell out of my office, damn it! I need to talk to my secretary about this.
"-that the project will not be compromised."
I eject the disc with Project Silence on it and drop it into my top drawer. I hope Sydney didn't notice, because I'll be damned if I have to deal with his ethical bullshit today. (Who is he to talk about ethics anyway? He kept a kid locked up and solving the government's dirty problems for the last thirty years! Not to mention all those freaky twin experiments he has going on.)
Mutumbo actually manages to keep one sentence fairly short, and I promptly answer, glad the conversation is over.
"Yes, sir, you have my word." I push the headset down around my neck and face Sydney, trying to prepare myself for whatever complaint he wishes to lodge now. If there is anyone that can complain about the smallest things, it would have to be Sydney. I wouldn't be surprised if one day he walked in here and started complaining that a piece of framed art down in the lobby was crooked by the merest thousandth of an inch.
"It seems like the world hasn't changed so much," Sydney observes gleefully. Great, he's come to gloat. Dog's don't gloat. Someone should probably inform Sydney of this, because he looks like the cat that ate the canary.
You know, I really don't need this today. I just need to get him out of here so I can go back to crisis management.
"Okay, Sydney. You were right, and I was wrong," I hiss at him, much like a child would, only I'm slightly more stressed out than your average child. Ah, if only my biggest concern was getting a cookie out of the cookie jar! "But I'd rather be alive and wrong than dead right. If we don't get Jarod back, I'm not going to be the only one Mutumbo is going to personally reeducate."
Sydney continues smirking at me, but I think he knows as well as I do that he will be among the reeducated, especially since Jarod was originally his ward.
Broots bursts through my door. People really need to stop just walking in here! I turn to find out what the hell the little weasel wants-
Ahhh! My eyes! What the hell is he wearing? Dear God. .. It's some sort of yellow and green bowling shirt.
First thing I'm doing when I have full power is implementing a dress code. Or maybe just taking Broots' wardrobe and burning it all. Wait, that would leave him shirtless to wander around The Centre. I repress a shudder at the image. Good thing I didn't eat anything yet today. Dress code for all it is.
"Oh, sorry for bursting in!" Broots raises one of his hands in an apologetic gesture. Well, at least he apologizes for it. Still doesn't help my mood any.
"What?" I ask, exasperation seeking into my voice as I roll my eyes at the techie before me.
"You wouldn't believe who I saw lurking the hallway, looking as alive as day!" Great descriptive prowess there, Broots. Please, drop the tech stuff and go be a writer! Your butchering of the art of language is just what the public is looking for!
Jackass.
"I mean, rumor has it he's supposed to be dead! But he's. . ." Broots trails off a bit when the door opens (Damn it! Stop it already!) and in wheezes Mr. Raines. ". . .not."
Why. Is. Raines. Alive? I thought for sure Mutumbo would have had him conveniently disappear when he tried that little coup d'etat on Mr. Parker. It worked, of course, just not in the way he wanted it to. Lucky me.
The oxygen tank squeaks, which is quite possibly the single most terrifying noise one can ever hear in their life. Yes, even I'm scared of this man. He's just. . .creepy!
The squeaking blessedly stops when Raines stops in front of Broots and wheezes at him, "Glad to disappoint you." Oh ho ho, Broots is so very dead!
I blink and the most surrealistic thing I have ever witnessed in my life happens. Raines hugs Broots. Yes, hugs! Broots looks like he might pass out at any moment and has emitted some kind of high-pitched squeak for help. I'll be damned if I'm going anywhere near that walking dead man.
"Mmmm, it's good to be back in the bosom of The Centre!" Raines exclaims cheerfully as he pats Broots on the back. Broots just looks like he wants to sink into a very, very large hole and never crawl out. I think that can be arranged.
Sydney looks over at me and I'm suddenly aware of the fact that my jaw is not, in fact, closed. My mouth is gaping open in complete and utter shock, because, well, this is pretty damn shocking!
People at The Centre never die, do they?
"God bless you all!"
God? He found God? Maybe whatever Mutumbo did to Raines here was worse than death. . . I can only imagine, but I really don't want to.
Broots is released from Raines' grip, and he looks greatly disturbed. You and me both, buddy.
"Now. . . let's go catch Jarod!"
There's only one response to that: "Amen!"
-----
to be continued.
feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.
My meeting with Mr. White finished quickly, all our plans being laid out. If this project succeeds. . . Well, I don't even want to think of the possibilities, but all of them are of a large benefit to yours truly. Now to add the finishing touches to the day's work, and then I'll be on my way home to a relaxing evening of wining, dining, and binding. I allow a smile to creep to my features at the thought of what awaits me at home in my secret closet.
It is, of course, right at this point that I hear voices drifting from the vicinity of Jarod's cell, and one of them has a distinct accent. Only figures that he'd finally, at the worst time, find the balls to go searching for Jarod. I bet he even used that thing to help him out.
As I turn the corner but remain hidden in the shadows (God bless the poor lighting in the sublevels of The Centre!), Sydney's accented voice seems filled with incredulity. Actually, it sounds as if he is genuinely amused as he asks Jarod the one question that manages to sneak under my skin and really piss me off.
"You trust Lyle?"
Jarod, the good little puppy that he is, promptly asks in return, "Don't you?" It is at this point I decide to make my entrance. Maybe I'll give the old man a heart attack from the shock!
"Well, don't you? Sydney?" I allow my anger to seep into my voice, knowing it will, if nothing else, cower the thing standing next to Sydney. Sydney, on the other hand, is not so easily cowed, but I'll work on it. I firmly believe that when I'm through with this place, everyone will be begging to lick my shoes! Sydney shoots me a slightly amused look (Does the man have any looks other than variations of stupefied?) and rolls his eyes, but I continue on with my tirade.
"I see even you found this little needle in our haystack," I say, advancing into the room further, planning to intimidate the thing as best as I can (Which, honestly, isn't very hard, now is it?). "I wonder how?" I hiss at the thing, following it until it's cornered. "I never liked you. I'm not even sure what the hell you are." It cowers slightly, bowing his head and shuffling away. Good. It needs to learn its place. If I remember it, I'll be sure to stick it in Renewal Wing for a little reeducation sometime this week.
I glare at the thing a little more, just to get my point across, but the clock is ticking, and we need to get moving. "Come on Jarod, time to go." I pat Sam on the back like the cute little doggie he is. So obedient, and he knows better than to bite the hand that feeds him, unlike the other occupants of the room.
Sam unlocks the cage and Jarod just stares stupidly. Yawn. Nothing knew, You'd think he'd learn how to make other facial expressions by now, right?
"No injections this time, Jarod." Sam shakes the pill bottle he's holding in front of Jarod's face, as if that would help explain everything in the world. People do the strangest things, like talking louder and slower when dealing with someone who can't speak their language. Yes, because doing that really helps them to understand the nonsense they think you're spewing at them! People are morons.
Sam hands the pills to Jarod, and he blinks and stares at them for a bit, then asks the stupid question I expect him to ask (He's so predictable! Now tell me why Miss Parker has failed to capture him before now? Oh wait, nevermind. Stupid question.).
"Sedatives?" Dumbass.
"Jarod!" Sydney exclaims suddenly, as if to make his presence known again. The good doctor just can't stand being ignored for longer than ten minutes, can he? Sheesh.
"It's okay, Sydney. I prefer to sleep through this," Jarod says to placate Sydney, though I suspect it's more just to get the doctor to shut the hell up. Maybe it'll work. . .
"Jarod, don't!" Damn it. Oh well, at least it's driving Jarod to take the pills. I almost let my glee escape, but I catch the grin before it can fully form on my face. Things actually seem to be working out for me!
Sydney turns around, probably thinking that somehow he'll manage to confront me and make me change my mind. Right. Because, clearly, dreams are now reality. Stupid dog.
"Lyle, I won't allow it." Oooh, he's all authoritative sounding and everything! Wow! Well, when Sydney decides to lay down the law, then I just gotta follow, right?
Ha, hell no.
"Deny the sweet sorrow if you want to, but you two are parting. So, be a man." Instead of a dog for once! "Say adios." God, he's so attached to the Lab Rat. Honestly, aren't doctors supposed to not get emotionally involved? Why on Earth have we kept him around this long?
The two embrace, as expected. Oddest. Relationship. Ever. And I've had some pretty fucked up ones!
"Good-bye, Sydney," I hear Jarod partially whisper, as if it's the biggest secret in the world and big, bad Lyle can't know about it! Puh-lease.
They finally let go of each other and Jarod walks up to me for inspection. Ah, he knows the routine. So easily trainable, this one. Now, time to check to make sure he's not trying to pull one over on me, but I doubt that. I have gotten him so well trained he's probably even willing to lick my shoes clean after I go for a walk in a dog park.
I grab him by the cheeks and move his head around, checking his mouth. He has really bad breath. I must remember to make sure he gets a mint or something on the plane. God, I can barely breathe!
"Tongue," I command, and like the good doggie he is (bad breath and all), he lifts his tongue and I check underneath it for the sedatives. Nothing at all. I must admit, I'm a little disappointed. I was so hoping to torture him just a little bit more before shipping him off.
"Thatta boy," I say, patting him on the head. He'd make such a lovely pet. If only he were Asian. . .
Time to go, though. Time is running out. I turn to leave, stopping just long enough to issue an order to the beloved (Pff, yeah, by brainless freaks!) doctor.
"Sydney, put him away," I say, making a small motion toward the thing that's curled in on itself over there.
Sam grabs Jarod and leads him out of the room with me, and Jarod sends one last, sad look to Sydney. Yes, that's it. Motivate the doctor to pester me some more. Great. Thanks a lot, asshole. And here I thought he was on my side for getting Sydney to shut up.
I walk with Sam and Jarod part of the way in silence, then split off from them and head back to the office. So much to do, and oh-so-very little time. In a couple of minutes, one of my problems will be solved, and the solution to another will be put into motion.
I don't think today can possibly get any better.
The phone rings next to me, and I clumsily reach for it, more distracted by the hunt for my missing DSA. Where the hell did that get off to?
"Lyle," I say tersely, digging through a drawer at the same time.
"Mr. Lyle." Sam. Why is he calling? "We have a problem, sir."
Oh, shit.
"What kind of problem, Sam?" I ask, my relentless searching ceasing for the time being.
"Well, sir. .." I can hear the hesitation in his voice. This is just plain screams "not good!"
"What?" I grind out, my patience pretty much exhausted now. I have a minute amount of patience for each day, and between this and having to deal with that thing and Sydney down in Jarod's former cell, it's gone.
"Jarod escaped, sir."
"WHAT?" I shout, standing up and sending the chair flying toward the wall behind me.
Jarod. Escaped.
Again.
Fuck!
There is nothing but silence on the other end. Damn it all. I feel like destroying something, and something pricey at that. I grab at the nearest thing (some artifact Daddy dearest has lying around the office) and hurl it at the wall, satisfied when it shatters and the sound reverberates throughout the room.
Okay. Better now. Less seething anger, more thinking. Always a good thing.
"How did he escape?"
Sam relays the entire story to me in detail, telling of his and the other sweepers' ineptitude. Lovely. And, of course, that rat bastard didn't take the damn sedatives. I bet he passed them off to Sydney or something. I'll have to remember to interrogate the old man a little later on, when there's less shit flying off of the fan.
"So Mr. White just disappeared after the plane crash?" Not good at all. He needs to not be running off to God-knows where right now. No, he needs to be going to do his damn job!
"Yes, sir."
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
"Get out of there and get someone to clean up the mess in the woods," I instruct quickly and hang up before Sam even has a chance to respond. He'll be dealt with when he gets back here. Renewal Wing sounds rather pleasant for his return.
I need to get in contact with Mr. White. If everything I've worked for has just been destroyed, I will personally tear Jarod limb from limb, and I'm gonna start by ripping out each and every single piece of hair on his body. With jumper cables.
I allow the pleasant image of Jarod screaming in tortured agony to wash over me for a minute, calming me considerably.
I pick up the phone and dial the number Mr. White has given me as his cell number. I can only hope he didn't lie to me. Something has to go right today, right?
The line rings a few times, then he answers.
"White."
"Mr. White, it's Mr. Lyle. I heard about the mishap. Are you all right?"
"Yes, Mr. Lyle. No major damage has been done, though I should inform you that Jarod did take some of the information on Silence."
Son of a bitch. Just what I don't need: Jarod sticking his nose where it most certainly does not belong! I really should have cut that thing off when I had the chance!
I sigh heavily out of irritation, then ask if he still has everything that he needs for Silence to be successfully completed (That is, of course, if I can manage to make sure Jarod doesn't get involved.).
"Yes, Mr. Lyle. I have the blueprints and everything I need. Tell our clients and Raylor that as soon as our inside person gets the ETA, Silence will go down flawlessly this time."
Flawlessly. If that doesn't sound like a salesman trying to sell me a lemon, I don't know what does!
"Flawlessly? What exactly do you mean by flawlessly? The Nash family will actually be killed this time around?"
"Well, the C-4 will catalyze the on-site accelerant and burn white-hot." He has an obtuse answer for everything. It's rather irritating, especially since Jarod likes to do the same thing. At least Mr. White's response are coherent and you know, smart.
"Will there be any links back to us or the corporate customers in the debris?" Have to keep the people paying the bills happy, you know. Plus, I'd lose a lot more than just another thumb if The Centre was ever implicated in any of the things we've been doing!
"Well, even if someone could dig through the debris, our corporate customers can rest assured that there will be no trace of even the timing device that survives. Oh, I guarantee you, there will be no trace left of the Nash family or anyone else that happens to be in that building."
"What about fallout in the surrounding areas and buildings?"
"Any residual fallout while just help mask the ID of our intended targets. I'll contact you when I'm in place."
The line cuts out. Done like a true salesman. I must admit, Mr. White is damn good at his job. Damn good indeed. Now I only need to make one more call, and then I can get out there and try to hunt down that rat bastard.
I grab the handsfree version of the phone. I just know I'm going to be pacing like mad. If there is one person I can't mouth off to, it's the man I'm about to call. Big Mutumbo. God help me.
I dial his direct line and prepare myself for what could possibly be the beginning of the end for me. God knows Mutumbo has a tendency to act out on his every whim.
He picks up, and my heart has literally stopped beating. I am going to die today, I can just feel it.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
I begin to pace as I explain the situation to him. I stop and squeeze my eyes shut when the last words leave my mouth, hoping that he won't order sweepers to kill me where I stand.
After a long silence, he finally speaks, though it is in his native language. That means he's probably too angry to speak coherently in English. Fuck.
One thing you should know about my illustrious boss is that he is long-winded. The man can just go on and on and on and on and on! Right now he's explaining to me how ironic it is that Jarod has escaped. Repeatedly. Using different phrases and descriptions each time. If it wasn't so damn irritating, I'd have to say it's quite impressive that he's that verbose.
But, God damn, it is irritating.
"Yes, Mutumbo. I understand clearly every word that you are saying and I assure you that the irony of Jarod's escape is not lost on me either." I rub my forehead during my pacing and stop behind my desk, my frustration and irritation clouding my judgment.
Of course, Mutumbo calls me on it, and I'm forced to try to cover my ass and suck up as best as possible in the situation.
"Facetious? No, no. Of course I'm not being facetious."
I sure hope that didn't sound like I'm trying to cover my ass. It's probably best not to dwell on that, so I cue up a picture of the Nash family on my computer. Soon they will be just a memory, and I'll finally be fully in charge of this place. Everything is coming to be as it should. Now if only Jarod were locked up in a cage somewhere deep underground, all would be perfect.
Speaking of Jarod, Mutumbo has been prattling on about him for some time now, saying exactly the same thing ten different ways.
"Yes, I understand the importance of reacquiring Jarod as it relates to Silence, but, as you know, we have an inside person, so our friends at Raylor can rest assured-"
It is at this point that Sydney waltzes into my office and I tense up, knowing I have to choose my words carefully now. Why does everyone think I have an open-door policy around here? I don't! Get the hell out of my office, damn it! I need to talk to my secretary about this.
"-that the project will not be compromised."
I eject the disc with Project Silence on it and drop it into my top drawer. I hope Sydney didn't notice, because I'll be damned if I have to deal with his ethical bullshit today. (Who is he to talk about ethics anyway? He kept a kid locked up and solving the government's dirty problems for the last thirty years! Not to mention all those freaky twin experiments he has going on.)
Mutumbo actually manages to keep one sentence fairly short, and I promptly answer, glad the conversation is over.
"Yes, sir, you have my word." I push the headset down around my neck and face Sydney, trying to prepare myself for whatever complaint he wishes to lodge now. If there is anyone that can complain about the smallest things, it would have to be Sydney. I wouldn't be surprised if one day he walked in here and started complaining that a piece of framed art down in the lobby was crooked by the merest thousandth of an inch.
"It seems like the world hasn't changed so much," Sydney observes gleefully. Great, he's come to gloat. Dog's don't gloat. Someone should probably inform Sydney of this, because he looks like the cat that ate the canary.
You know, I really don't need this today. I just need to get him out of here so I can go back to crisis management.
"Okay, Sydney. You were right, and I was wrong," I hiss at him, much like a child would, only I'm slightly more stressed out than your average child. Ah, if only my biggest concern was getting a cookie out of the cookie jar! "But I'd rather be alive and wrong than dead right. If we don't get Jarod back, I'm not going to be the only one Mutumbo is going to personally reeducate."
Sydney continues smirking at me, but I think he knows as well as I do that he will be among the reeducated, especially since Jarod was originally his ward.
Broots bursts through my door. People really need to stop just walking in here! I turn to find out what the hell the little weasel wants-
Ahhh! My eyes! What the hell is he wearing? Dear God. .. It's some sort of yellow and green bowling shirt.
First thing I'm doing when I have full power is implementing a dress code. Or maybe just taking Broots' wardrobe and burning it all. Wait, that would leave him shirtless to wander around The Centre. I repress a shudder at the image. Good thing I didn't eat anything yet today. Dress code for all it is.
"Oh, sorry for bursting in!" Broots raises one of his hands in an apologetic gesture. Well, at least he apologizes for it. Still doesn't help my mood any.
"What?" I ask, exasperation seeking into my voice as I roll my eyes at the techie before me.
"You wouldn't believe who I saw lurking the hallway, looking as alive as day!" Great descriptive prowess there, Broots. Please, drop the tech stuff and go be a writer! Your butchering of the art of language is just what the public is looking for!
Jackass.
"I mean, rumor has it he's supposed to be dead! But he's. . ." Broots trails off a bit when the door opens (Damn it! Stop it already!) and in wheezes Mr. Raines. ". . .not."
Why. Is. Raines. Alive? I thought for sure Mutumbo would have had him conveniently disappear when he tried that little coup d'etat on Mr. Parker. It worked, of course, just not in the way he wanted it to. Lucky me.
The oxygen tank squeaks, which is quite possibly the single most terrifying noise one can ever hear in their life. Yes, even I'm scared of this man. He's just. . .creepy!
The squeaking blessedly stops when Raines stops in front of Broots and wheezes at him, "Glad to disappoint you." Oh ho ho, Broots is so very dead!
I blink and the most surrealistic thing I have ever witnessed in my life happens. Raines hugs Broots. Yes, hugs! Broots looks like he might pass out at any moment and has emitted some kind of high-pitched squeak for help. I'll be damned if I'm going anywhere near that walking dead man.
"Mmmm, it's good to be back in the bosom of The Centre!" Raines exclaims cheerfully as he pats Broots on the back. Broots just looks like he wants to sink into a very, very large hole and never crawl out. I think that can be arranged.
Sydney looks over at me and I'm suddenly aware of the fact that my jaw is not, in fact, closed. My mouth is gaping open in complete and utter shock, because, well, this is pretty damn shocking!
People at The Centre never die, do they?
"God bless you all!"
God? He found God? Maybe whatever Mutumbo did to Raines here was worse than death. . . I can only imagine, but I really don't want to.
Broots is released from Raines' grip, and he looks greatly disturbed. You and me both, buddy.
"Now. . . let's go catch Jarod!"
There's only one response to that: "Amen!"
to be continued.
feedback welcomed at spacedoutwriter@hotmail.com.
