by Captain Sammitch and GoozX
The MBL Consulting Complex:
BLAM!
"Wide left."
Grissom Montag rolled his eyes. "Losing my touch, mate." He aimed and fired again.
"Just a bit low." Phil Smith stood up and inspected the target. "Pretty close that time, though."
"You sure that thing's not moving?" Grissom joked.
Phil shrugged. "Pretty sure."
Grissom turned and lined up his shot. He peered over at Phil subtly as he aimed and fired again. The target moved a half-inch to the left.
Grissom whirled around. "You bloody bastard! You moved that thing!"
Phil grinned. "Guilty as charged." He walked over and accepted the gun from Grissom. "Sure was a good idea to squeeze a firing range into the security sublevel, don't you think?"
Grissom nodded. "Works out nicely. And I'm sure Mr. Bell will appreciate having yet another arena to one-up us in." He sat down. "Pretty hard to believe that she was still alive, wasn't it?"
Phil nodded. "You said I looked like I'd seen a ghost, and for all intents and purposes, I had." He shot at the target and missed the ten-ring by about an inch. "Crap." Phil picked up a grease pencil from a nearby work bench and marked a little line on the side of the gun barrel. "But yeah, now you know why things have been so weird lately."
"And it explains the trouble with Leslie." Grissom concentrated for a moment, and a sandwich appeared in his hand. "But is it possible that she may have figured out what's going on, too?"
Phil shrugged. "Anything's possible, really." He aimed and fired. "Bullseye."
"Nice shot," Grissom remarked as he took a bite of his sandwich. "The reason I'm wondering is because, if she's really a bounty hunter, and if she's been assigned specifically to track you down, then there may be an intelligence connection in there somehow."
Phil nodded. "I still don't understand why the KGB has so many files on me, but nobody else has a clue who I am."
"I haven't finished breaking the encryption sequences," Grissom admitted, "so I guess you'll find out when I do."
"But do you really think that the GRU is after me?" Phil asked.
"That's what Leslie told you," Grissom replied. "I would say it's a pretty safe bet."
"And if Leslie didn't deliver me to them?"
"She's got information," Grissom said, "and she knows where you are. The GRU would count on that, and so their first course of action would be to track Leslie down and try to get what they needed from her. Once that was taken care of, then they'd come after you."
Phil frowned. "So now Leslie's the one being hunted."
Grissom nodded.
Phil dashed to a nearby phone. "I gotta talk to her."
"The line isn't secured yet," Grissom warned.
"Doesn't matter," Phil said. "Let 'em trace me here. She's the one they're after."
Elsewhere on La Perdita:
A pencil slid across an off-white sheet of paper. It gracefully turned across the sheet, pausing at times, the pressure coming and going. A young woman's hand shaded and blended different areas.
She stopped.
A tear fell, striking the paper. She put the pad down. The drawing was of three figures: two males and a female, best friends, all smiling and happy. An image that mimicked a time long ago, a time that had past.
Getting to her feet, she looked out the window. The sun shone over Puerta Mibela. Most of the city was in bad shape, but the small area she lived in survived, at least compared to the eastern coast of the city. She lived on the border of Puerta Mibela and the smaller town of Tumbilia.
She brushed her long dark hair back and exited her apartment. Walking outside, the city was quiet. It had been since the time following Hurricane Jason.
Tourism was at an all-time low, and the government was poor, in debt by tens of millions. The rebuilding process had been put on hold for the time being. The city would remain with areas in ruins. Sad. A constant reminder of the many lives taken by nature. No villain, no one to blame.
Michelle Campbell lost more then she could ever imagine. Before the storm? In the storm? She didn't know. All she knew was that the two men who meant everything to her had disappeared without a trace. The last time she saw either men, they had fought. Painful, hurtful things were said, things that couldn't be taken back, things that still hurt even months and months later.
The sun shone today. But she was still rebuilding from the worst storm of her life. How much longer would it be until the pain went away?
Puerta Mibela International Airport:
The Learjet touched down precisely on schedule at the recently rebuilt airport. The pilot taxied the small plane past rows of hangars over to the smaller private terminal. A stairway was wheeled out as the jet came to a halt.
The door opened as the engines shut down. Two men in black suits and sunglasses stepped out. One turned to escort a third man down the stairway. "Welcome to La Perdita, sir."
Special Agent Steve Fisher smiled. "Thank you, Davis. I'm sure I'll enjoy my stay."