|
Episode 064 |
|
|
“He
could be attacked and parodied, but never ignored.” Ray Longyear Till’s hands dangled out through the bars of the
holding cell. Painted white to match
the walls of the tiny room barely twice as wide as he was, the cell stood in
a long line of identical rooms along the hallway. The thick German tapped his thumbs
together, watching as a pair of RAF officers paced cautiously on the other
side of the prison. He turned his head, hearing a series of metal
clanks. He looked down the hall, able
to see Eliot’s hands rapping on the metal bars. Till counted off the knocks, keeping track
of them. “What’s taking so long,” he
mouthed out, connecting the knocks to letters, then to words. He put his brawny knuckles to the bars and
paused, thinking. After a second, he
began to tap. Down the hall, Eliot stood before his cell doors,
looking forlorn. He glanced up as he
heard knocking coming from Till’s cell.
He counted the knocks. “Politics are…politicians are slow.” He drew back. “We’re being held by a military base. Where’s politics come into play?” Beneath them, on the floor below, Alex looked upward, waiting
for more knocks. He listened, counting
out Eliot’s response, then looked to the mirror in the open cell across the
hall from his. He could see Irene in
the cell two down from him. She looked
directly at him and mouthed ‘what’s going on’. Alex looked back up, listening. ‘Till and Eliot are talking,’ he mouthed. ‘How?’ ‘Morse code’ he shrugged uncertainly. “Hey!” came a shout from above. Eliot jerked back from the front of the cell, startled
as an RAF officer with a large gun stepped in front of the door. “I think someone needs to stop all that
tapping,” the British military man said condescendingly. “I think someone needs to take some speech lessons,”
Till said from down the hall. The RAF
officer looked down at Till and stepped away from Eliot’s cell. Behind the metal bars, Eliot breathed out,
relieved. The officer stormed to Till’s door, pointing his gun
through the bars at Till. “What’d you
say, kraut?” he asked goadingly. “I said you sound like a bad Charles Dickens
stereotype,” Till rasped. “Oh is that a fact?” the man said, slinging his gun
over his shoulder. “Well, we’ll just
see if…” “Till, stand down!” Alex yelled beneath him. Till and the officer glared at each other,
both ready for blood. “Stand down,
Till!” Alex yelled. “Shut it, Yankee!” the RAF man yelled. He turned back to Till. “Before this is over, kraut,” he said,
pointing between him and Till. “Why wait?” Till said.
The officer paused angrily, then kept walking. Assif walked with a quick gait, practically running
down the hall. He carried with him a
small attaché as he shoved his way through a set of closing wooden
doors. Inside the doors, a middle-aged
woman in a suit turned to him. “Yes?”
she asked politely. “My name is Assif Salem,” he said quickly, but politely. “I am from the United Nations Security
Council. I am here to see the Speaker
of the House of Commons.” The woman looked Assif up and down, then turned and
walked around her desk. She sat down
at her computer. “Well, let’s just see
what we can do.” She began to type
quickly, then leaned forward at her computer.
“The Speaker may have an opening on Thursday in the afternoon, if that’s
alright. I’m afraid it will be
dependent on…” “Ma’am,” Assif said, “you don’t understand. I need to speak with him right now. It is a matter of extreme urgency.” The woman blinked at Assif. “Tuesday?’ she offered. The door opened, casting a wedge of light on the small
brick room. Lisa looked up from where
she was curled up on the floor. She
quickly scampered into the corner, crouching low. But through the door stepped Ominous. He smiled to her, beaming with
accomplishment. “My dear,” he began, his English stained with Danish.
“Very soon you will be reunited with your cohorts.” Lisa looked around the cell, then stood slowly. She looked passed Ominous, through the
door, then back at the vampire. “I’m a
little more concerned about being reunited with my clothes.” “Yes, well,” Ominous said. “Government agents are notoriously devious,
even down to their clothing. One never
knows what devices or traits they may carry.”
He stepped into the room, the door remaining open. Lisa stared at the light, but made no other
motion. “Lisa, Sarah has told me a
great deal.” She looked at him,
unconsciously drawing in. “I’m afraid
that Sarah has fallen to my persuasion,” he said with a smile. “She’s told me quite a bit. In fact, she’s told me everything.” Lisa swallowed hard, then bit her lower lip. “Then what do you need me for?” she
asked. “Why don’t you let me go?” “I plan to,” Ominous said. “As soon as we have the book.” Lisa’s expression drew astonished. “The book,” she said. “Ivers’ book!” Ominous nodded. “We’ll
be sending our men to retrieve it within the hour.” Lisa looked down. “You do know that the UN has declared you
dead, correct? Given that you are an
undercover operative, as soon as you were lost in combat, they declared you
deceased.” Lisa took a deep breath and sat back against the
wall. She stared at the bricks, not
speaking. “You do realize that that’s
why your people have not tried for a rescue.
Because, officially, you are deceased.
No one knows you are alive anymore.”
He smiled, his teeth glinting in the darkness. “Not even…Amy.” Lisa looked up at Ominous, for the first time, real
fear appearing within her eyes. “Sarah,” Ominous said with a smile, “told me
everything.” He was an older gentleman, with little hair and broad
bifocals. Sitting over his desk, his
robes were crushed up against his body as he read a briefing. After a moment, he looked up as Assif sat
across from him. “How may the British
House of Commons be of service to the United Nations, Mr. Salem?” “By allowing the release of our agents,” Assif
explained, extending a set of papers from his attaché, “and by allowing them
to complete their mission.” The Speaker accepted the papers and began to browse
through them. With an academic eye, he
studied each page quickly. “As I
understand it,” he said after a moment, “they had breeched “Their UN authorization was denied for unknown
reasons,” Assif explained. “They are
being held at Spadeadam Station on the Scottish/English border. They are being denied release until they
have been ‘processed’.” “I see,” the Speaker said. He flipped through a few more pages, then
put the brief down and looked squarely at Assif. “And just why were they entering into Her Majesty’s
airspace?” “They were in pursuit of a terrorist cell,” Assif
explained succinctly. “Islamic?” the Speaker asked. Assif took a moment to answer. “I am afraid that the nature of the
terrorists is classified.” “By the UN,” the Speaker said, accusingly to Assif. He nodded. “Then I am afraid,” the Speaker said, sitting back, “that
we will not be able to authorize the release until we have a better
understanding of the…” “Have you ever seen the The Speaker looked up from his desk, confused by the
question. He thought for a moment
innocently. “I believe my wife watched
it, for a time.” “Your grandchildren, no doubt, saw the Men in Black
movies,” Assif stated calmly. The
Speaker nodded, lost. It took him only
a second to consider the two sources. He
turned away slightly, then breathed in deeply, the pattern registering. He looked squarely at Assif, who returned
his gaze with earnest sincerity. |
|