|
Post by AgentScarlett on Apr 26, 2005 11:14:26 GMT -5
Sands smirked and brought the finger to his lips. “But don’t tell. It’s a surprise. Besides…” Sands stuck the finger in his mouth, and Cam made a face, knowing that the stuff had to taste nasty, considering the ingredients in it. “… it’d be a cold day in hell before that f**kwad could have taken me back to the States.”<br> Not swallowing, Sands tested its thickness. After a couple of seconds he rolled his tongue over his front teeth, but showed no other outward signs of its bitter taste. Instead, he walked straight into the bathroom.
“Taste good?” Cam asked in amusement, as he heard Sands spit into the sink and run the water for a few seconds.
Sands didn’t answer until he was back in the room, standing beside Cam. “Tastes like nuts,” he said matter-of-factly. Walking back over to the desk, Sands smirked. “Which means it’s perfect. Now for the final touch, which you’ll have to add… the food coloring.”
Cam did so, trying to match a color he’d seen before. It wasn’t a hard color to remember. In fact, he was quite sure that it would be etched into his mind until the day he died.
Sands grabbed a water bottle and returned to the bathroom. Twisting off the cap, he took a swig, then poured the rest of the water into the sink, bringing the empty bottle back into the room.
“Got it?” Sands asked.
“Yeah. Where’d you learn to make this anyway? The Farm?”<br> Frowning slightly, Sands didn’t answer. His hand searched the desk, until it made contact with the notepad. He tore off a piece of paper, took the bowl from Cam, and went back into the bathroom.
‘Oh hell,’ Cam thought, knowing he’d just stuck his foot in his mouth. Sands’ reaction had told Cam that he already knew exactly who’d taught Sands. A painfully obvious answer that he should have thought of before opening his mouth.
Sands sighed as he set the bowl down by the sink, wishing that Cam hadn’t asked that question. It brought back memories that he didn’t want to remember, and thoughts that he’d rather not have.
Rolling up the piece of paper, he stuck one end in the plastic water bottle, and let the other end naturally expand out, creating a makeshift funnel. Grabbing the bowl, he began slowly pouring the thick mixture, transferring it from the bowl to the bottle.
When the bottle was full Sands twisted on the cap and cleaned up.
Walking back into the entryway, Sands dug into his bag and brought out an unusual looking black gun. It wasn’t very large, and was almost all barrel, with a firing lever instead of a trigger.
“Jesus, Sands! Is that what I think it is?” Cam asked when he caught sight of the gun.
“Since my telepathic powers seem to come and go as they please, I’ll just say yes.”<br> “How the hell do you still have one of those? Wasn’t the Company forced to destroy that model five years ago when they started the big crackdown?”<br> Sands inclined his head, and Cam could imagine the devilish twinkle that would have been in his eyes. “Yes, and the answer is simple. I was sent out on an assignment with this gun seven years ago. When I returned to the States, I told the Company that I had to destroy the gun because it was in jeopardy of being discovered.”<br> “But you just kept it instead… just how much Company stuff have you jacked over the years?”<br> Sands smiled wickedly, a clear capsule of light yellow liquid between his fingertips. He loaded it into the gun, and tucked the gun into his hip holster. The weapon was a dangerous one, and if it went off before he intended, he’d be dead… end of story.
“The Company doesn’t give those to just any officer…” Cam continued
Next Sands retrieved a brown sports coat, folded up in the bottom of his bag. Slipping it on to conceal the gun at his hip, he faced Cam and thingyed an eyebrow, finishing the sentence. “Only to their trained assassins.”<br> Cam said nothing, not knowing what to say. Sands tucked the water bottle into an inside pocket of his jacket. “Of course officially we don’t exist anymore, so mums the word,” Sands continued easily.
Cam sighed heavily before replying, “Well, I always did wonder what that last specialty of yours was.”<br> Sands slipped off his sunglasses, and searched around in the bag for his extra pair. Making the switch, Sands slipped on the cheaper sunglasses. There was no sense in ruining a good pair of sunglasses, after all. “Where did El run off to, anyway?”<br> “Beats me. Maybe he’s eating dinner.”<br> “That better be all he’s doing,” Sands said offhandedly. Retrieving a pair of black leather gloves and a small box from the bag, he slipped on the gloves and opened the box. Taking out a small white pill, he popped it in his mouth and swallowed it dry, then put the little box in his pocket.
“What was that?”<br> “Sodium thiosulfate,” Sands answered, all suited up and ready to go. “Here’s what I want you to do. I’m going to ask Jackson to go down to the car and get my suitcase. I want you to stall him for… oh, let’s just say twenty minutes.”<br> “I don’t know what he looks like.”<br> “Now Cam, it would be rude of me not to formally introduce the two of you.”<br> “Any specific way you want me to stall him?”
Sands raised his eyebrows. “You’re asking me? I do believe you’re the people person, out of the two of us. I’m sure you’ll think of a way.” Walking to the door, Sands turned and waited for Cam to join him. “Just don’t arouse his suspicion.”<br> Cam made his way over to Sands, but when Sands began to turn the knob Cam stopped him. “You just make sure you watch your back, Jeff.”<br> “It’s just a little game of Cowboys and Indians, Cam. Don’t wig out,” Sands said, calm as ever as he lit another cigarette.
“Yeah, but who knows how many Indians may be outside that door.”<br> Sands exhaled a perfect ring of smoke, unfazed by Cam’s words of caution. “I’ll be sure to shoot first, shoot later, shoot again, then when everyone’s dead I’ll try and ask a question or two.”<br> Cam smirked, reminded of the old days when they were partners in the field. “I thought you’d learned that dead men can’t tell you anything by now?”<br> Sands grinned and opened the door. “That’s where you’re wrong.”<br> ---
After Sands had introduced the two of them and ordered Jackson to promptly bring him his suitcase, they’d left Sands in Jackson’s room, while they collected the remaining luggage from the car. After picking up the rest of the bags, Cam had taken Jackson aside, leading him into the dinning area.
“How loyal are you to Sands?” Cam had whispered conspiratorially to Jackson after pulling him aside.
Cam got his answer without much effort. The answer was, Jackson wasn’t loyal at all.
During their chat, Jackson hadn’t mentioned who he was working for or what he was up to. Cam kept to his word and didn’t press for any information, to avoid any suspicion on Jackson’ part.
When they returned to the second floor, they parted ways. Cam returned to Sands’ room, deciding to wait for him.
---
After Cam went into Sands’ room, Jackson set down the two suitcases he carried and knocked on the door. Since he’d left Sands there, Jackson figured he’d still be waiting.
After several seconds and no sounds of movement within the room, Jackson tried again, and again there was no answer. Figuring that Sands had returned to his room after the long wait, Jackson took the keycard out of his pocket and opened the door.
Setting one foot inside, he dropped off his bag before walking down the hall with Sands’ suitcase. Knocking on the officer’s door, it was immediately answered by Cam.
Jackson quickly shoved the suitcase in Cam’s hands. “Tell Sands that I don’t want to be bugged by him for the rest of the night.”<br> “Well, I’ll tell him when he gets back.”<br> “He’s not here?”<br> “No,” Cam answered, setting the suitcase down in the entryway by Sands’ other bag.
Curious, Jackson wondered where Sands could be. Coming to the conclusion that he really didn’t care, he shrugged. “I’ll see you two in the morning.”
Returning back to his room, Jackson made a quick stop in the bathroom before grabbing his suitcase from the entryway and carrying it into the room. Setting it down on top of the small table by the window, he popped it open and grabbed a manila folder out of the top flap.
Turning around, he quickly froze in horror at the sight that greeted him. The folder in his hands dropped to the floor forgotten, and his jaw fell slack.
He took a small, shaky step towards the gruesome sight, his breath catching in his throat. He’d never been able to stomach the sight of blood… and there was a lot of blood.
“f**k,” Jackson swore under his breath. After a couple more steps towards the body, he decided that getting any closer wasn’t necessary.
Taking his cell phone out of his pocket, Jackson dialed a number with shaky hands. The line on the other end picked up after the first ring.
Jackson took a deep breath. “Yeah. I have some news to report about Officer Sands. No… no, that won’t be necessary after all. He’s dead.”<br> Looking back at Sands’ body, Jackson shivered involuntarily. Blood coated his T-shirt, and had soaked through part of his jacket as well. He lay at an odd angle on the bed… but worst of all was the horrendous sight of Sands’ face.
Gone were the sunglasses that had always been there since he’d met the officer, but there was something else vital missing as well; his eyes. Instead, all that was there were empty sockets, recent wounds oozing dark crimson blood down his face.
Voice shaking, Jackson spoke into the phone again. “Yes, I’m sure. Sands won’t be a problem anymore.”<br> ~*~
Latin Translations
Ego te dimitto – You’re fired.
Die dulci fruere – Have a nice day.
Fallaces sunt rerum species – Appearances are deceptive/ Things are not as they appear.
|
|
|
Post by AgentScarlett on Apr 26, 2005 11:17:04 GMT -5
Chapter 34: The Price
Horrified, Jackson stared at Sands’ body in disgust, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the gory sight as he stood there, rooted in place.
Snapping his cell phone shut, he slipped it into his pocket as he moved closer to the body. Sands was still… and bloody. Very, very bloody.
“What the hell happened?” Jackson breathed, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. He’d only taken around half an hour to get the bags, and talk with Cameron. Whoever did this, did it very quickly.
As he found himself standing beside Sands’ unmoving form on the bed, he realized just how much of a problem this could prove to be for him.
What if someone found Sands in this room, a room registered in his name? There would be an investigation of course. Where that would lead… well, he didn’t even want to think about that.
‘Is someone trying to frame me?’ he thought, quickly becoming worried. Noticing the broken sunglasses lying at his feet, he picked them up curiously as a thought occurred to him. ‘Sands never took off his sunglasses when I was around…’
Leaning down close to the body to see the damage that had been done, Jackson noticed that Sands’ dead body was, in fact, breathing, just as the barrel of a gun, seemingly produced out of thin air, was shoved into his face.
When Sands moved out of his death pose, his lips curved into an evil smile.
“Surprise, surprise rat f**k.”<br> Jackson took a hasty step back, wanting to put some distance between himself and Sands as quickly as possible. Sands looked like the angel of death, come to take him to hell. Come to think of it, that was very likely what Sands was planning on doing. “Jesus!” Jackson shrieked, unable to believe his eyes.
“No. Try again. Think more… south.”<br> “What the hell happened to you?”<br> “I was betrayed by one of my own, Jackson… and it seems history wants to repeat itself. If that is the case, then I guess I’ll just have to smoke your ass too.”<br> “What- what is this?” Jackson stuttered, not fully comprehending what was going on. For all he knew, he could just be imagining this whole thing. Actually, he prayed that a temporary bout of insanity was the case, because if it wasn’t… he was in some deep nuts.
“Your performance was less than stellar, Jackson. It might have amused some of your audience, but I’m your toughest critic... and the only person that really matters, as it turns out. I hope you weren’t planning on a thriving acting career.” Sands thingyed an eyebrow. “Did you really think you’d fooled me so easily? They must have at least briefed you on my history with the Company. I find your naivete hard to believe, even for someone with your lack of cerebral matter.”<br> “Why? You were stupid enough to get caught on your last assignment,” Jackson shot back, his anger fueled by Sands’ insults.
“So were you,” Sands countered calmly, knowing very well what Jackson was trying to do. Sands took a threatening step towards Jackson. “I wonder… do you have what it takes to stop me from blowing you away? Because I don’t think you do.”<br> “Better to die, than live like you.”<br> Sands fought to keep his face neutral. “Never miss a good chance to shut the hell up, Jackson.”<br> “You plan to kill me?”<br> “Well, naturally. However, how you die will depend on your answers.”<br> Jackson wrinkled his brow in confusion. “You won’t kill me if I cooperate?”<br> Sands smirked. “That’s a little cliché, don’t you think? Let’s just go with the flow. See what happens.” Swiftly closing the gap between them, Sands brought the heel of his boot down on Jackson’s injured foot.
Doubling over in pain, Jackson bit back a cry of agony. He tried to shove Sands away, with little success.
Sands grabbed a chunk of Jackson’s hair and jerked his head up roughly. “Do you have any idea what this is?” Sands asked, bringing the unusual gun into Jackson’s view.
“A f**king gun,” Jackson ground out, his mind racing as he tried to figure a way out of the dangerous situation he was in.
Sands let out a huff of disappointment. “This is much more than a ‘f**king gun’.” Sands’ voice changed to a parental tone, as if he was talking to a child. “You see… if I pull the trigger of this gun it’s hasta la vista, Tonto. This is a cyanide gas gun, and it’s only given to the CIA’s trained assassins.” Sands paused a moment and tilted his head in query. “Did you know that about me? Did you know that was one of my specialties? Just how familiar are you with my 201?”<br> “I never read it, they just told me…”
“What you needed to know?” Sands interrupted, his smirk quickly turning into laughter. “Classic. What did they tell you? That I went rogue? That I betrayed my country? That I was completely whacko? All of the above? Is Officer Sands the talk of the town?”<br> “They said you turned traitor, sold information to Barillo, and hoped to gain a profit from the Day of the Dead operation.”<br> Sands sighed in mock dismay. “No imagination. No wonder I’m the best.”<br> “Used to be.”<br> Sands ground his heel further into Jackson’s foot. “I’d make you pay for that, but I want everyone to think you died of… natural causes. Wouldn’t do for them to find signs of a struggle on your corpse.”
Sands unexpectedly felt the impact of Jackson’s fist connect with his jaw, and he took a step back as he reeled from the punch, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Whoa there Tonto, didn’t think you had it in you,” Sands commented, amusement lacing his tone. “This might just be fun at that.”<br> Sands heard Jackson take off for the door, and didn’t waste any time in going after him. Jackson, slowed down by his injured foot, didn’t make it far before his feet were kicked out from underneath him. He went down on his stomach hard, the force knocking the wind out of him.
“Ouch. That sounded like it hurt,” Sands commented emotionlessly at the sound of the heavy thud. “Truth is, Jackson, to the Company, there’s no difference between you and me. We all pay a price eventually. I paid with my eyes, and you’ll pay with your life. In the end, it’ll all balance out,” Sands said, his free hand gliding along an invisible line. Kneeling down, Sands asked, “You’re working for Martin, am I right?”<br> “Why should I tell you? You’re going to kill me anyway.”<br> “You should have thought about that before you took this assignment. But…” Sands held up a finger. “I do have an incentive for you. If you cooperate, I promise that your death will be a snap. Otherwise… I won’t worry about what they think when they find your body, because they won’t find it. You’ll be fish food at the bottom of the first lake I come across.”
Jackson’s breathing hitched as he pulled himself up off the floor, realizing the situation he was in. He saw little way out of it. If Sands was as crazy as the Company said he was… “If you kill me, they’ll put you away for life.”<br> Snickering, Sands shook his head. “They can’t put me away for something they don’t know anything about.”<br> Desperate, Jackson gripped Sands’ collar and pulled him close. “You’ll never get away with it,” Jackson ground out, as tried to snatch the gun from Sands’ grip.
As they struggled for the weapon, Sands began to laugh. “What are you going to do, Jackson? Pull the trigger?”<br> “If you’re going to kill me, why not?”<br> Sands shrugged. “You’re dead if you do, dead if you don’t, Jackson.”<br> “At least I’ll take you with me!” Jackson spat, trying to bluff his way out, and hoping that Sands wouldn’t call him on it. Unfortunately for him, Sands didn’t fold.
“You think so?” Sands asked. A feral grin played across his lips as he asked excitedly, “Why don’t we find out?”
Sands positioned the gun between them, facing up. With their faces only inches apart, they would both be killed if the gun went off. Sands pried Jackson’s fingers off his jacket with his free hand. Jackson’s hand now in his own, he forced Jackson to grip the gun, index finger on the trigger. Sands own gloved hand held Jackson’s firmly in place so that he was unable to move his hand away.
“Pull the trigger, Jackson,” Sands coaxed him, coolly. “I’m giving you the chance to die with dignity, taking your assassin with you.”<br> “You’re crazy Sands,” Jackson said, a thought suddenly dawning on him. “You… you want me to kill you, don’t you?”<br> Sands tsk-tsked. “The real question is, are you man enough to pull the trigger?” he asked, not falling for Jackson’s bait. “I don’t think you are, Jackson. I think you’re a coward through and through, and I’m willing to bet my life on it. Are you?”<br> “I’m no coward,” Jackson said, without much conviction.
“And I’m giving you the chance to prove me wrong,” Sands replied, seemingly unfazed by the life and death situation. “You were right, you know. It’s not about how or when you die, it’s about who you take with you when you go. So do it, Jackson. Prove it. Prove the great CIA Officer Sheldon Jeffery Sands wrong… and pull the trigger,” Sands continued to cajole, waiting for a reaction and receiving none.
|
|
|
Post by AgentScarlett on Apr 26, 2005 11:19:00 GMT -5
Sands’ trigger finger found itself on top of Jackson’s, and he applied a little pressure, egging Jackson on. Jackson’s sharp intake of breath made Sands smile. He was enjoying this game, but all good things had to come to an end sooner or later. “You can’t do it, can you?” Leaning in a little, he said quietly, “Stultum est timere quod vitare non potes.”<br> Jackson tried to pull away, but Sands kept him in place. “I can understand why you want to die, but I don’t,” Jackson said finally.
“And why, pray tell, would I want to die?” Sands asked, sarcasm lacing his tone. Of course, he knew what Jackson was thinking, but wasn’t willing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d struck a cord. His defenses were up, and thinking about the insults Jackson was throwing his way was not something he was going to allow himself to do. “I’m a man who always gets what I want in the end, Jackson. If I wanted to be dead, I’d be dead.” Sands appeared to study him for a moment. “You’re not afraid to die, are you Jackson?”<br> “Just leave me the f**k alone… I don’t want this worthless assignment to be the end of my life! Do you hear me?”<br> “Then tell me who you’re working for. I don’t even need you to tell me, really. It’s all just added confirmation. Gaining extra intelligence is always worth the time. You work for Martin, yes?”<br> Jackson took a couple of deep breaths before answering in a whisper, “Yes.”
Sands took a deep breath of his own in a futile attempt to calm his anger. Of course he’d known in his mind that it was Martin, but now… now he had proof from someone else against his ex-boss.
‘How could the Company be so blind to such an obviously traitorous officer? How could I have been?’
Sands plastered on a fake smile. “You ever seen Broadway, Jackson?”<br> Jackson gave Sands a disbelieving look. “What the hell kind of question is that at a time like this?”<br> “Well, if you haven’t seen Broadway at night… you haven’t lived,” Sands said seriously, an odd expression on his face. “It’s just that it would be a shame for you to die without seeing it.” Shrugging, Sands didn’t linger on the subject. “You know, I knew all along that I was going to have to pull this trigger.”<br> Smile still on his lips, Sands took a large breath, held it, and pulled the trigger.
Jackson gasped in shock, and in doing so inhaled a good portion of the toxic fumes. His gasp quickly turned into a wheeze.
Sands was caught by surprise, however, when Jackson grabbed hold of him as he fell to the ground, dragging Sands down with him. As Jackson fought in vain to get air into his lungs, he refused to let Sands go. Unable to hold his breath any longer, Sands sucked in a breath of the poisonous air.
“Never f**k over a rat Jackson, the rat always wins in the end,” Sands told him, coughing in between words as he pried Jackson’s weakened hands off him. “Did you really think I’d come here without taking an antidote first? You’ll be dying alone tonight.”<br> Jackson began to convulse, the cyanide taking it’s toll. Sands got up, feeling short of breath himself as he took shaky steps away from Jackson and the contaminated air.
‘nuts, I was too close,’ Sands thought, as the gun slipped out of his suddenly weak grasp. He could hear Jackson taking his last strangled breaths on the floor before stopping all together. Sands swayed in his spot, his own breathing labored. One hand reached into his pocket as the other searched for something to support his weight. ‘Too close, too close.’<br> Finding the bed, he clumsily edged along it, towards where he assumed a window would be. Hands seeking out the furniture in front of him, he walked around a table and chair before reaching the far wall. Locating the window, he quickly pulled it up. A light breeze touched his skin as he opened the small box he’d put in his pocket earlier. Removing the ampoule of amyl nitrate, he broke it in half and inhaled it as deeply as his struggling lungs would allow.
Then, he waited.
The sodium thiosulfate he’d taken a half hour before was an antidote that helped counteract the effects of the cyanide gas, and the reason he wasn’t lying dead on the floor beside Jackson. However, having inhaled a fairly large amount of the poisonous vapors, the antitoxin ampoule he’d just sniffed would, he hoped, take care of his breathing, which was currently short and rapid.
Either his breathing would return to normal or he’d die of respiratory failure and find himself following Jackson to hell sooner than previously expected. It was hard to tell which way things would swing at the moment.
With his heartbeat seemingly as rapid as his breathing, Sands allowed himself to slide down to a seated position on the floor by the window. Knowing that the poison would rise in the air, the lower to the ground and closer to fresh air he was, the better.
‘Well, that could have gone more smoothly,” Sands thought wryly, as he sluggishly wiped away a few beads of sweat from his forehead. His gloved hands were clammy, and his whole body was weak. A few feeble coughs escaped his throat as his breathing began to gradually return to normal.
Starting to catch his breath, Sands removed his sports coat and tossed it as far away from himself as possible. The sports coat was quickly followed by his shirt, which he cut off with his pocketknife to avoid pulling it over his face and inhaling any cyanide that might still be clinging to the cloth.
After a couple of minutes, his strength slowly began to return and Sands reached up and pushed the window open the rest of the way. Waiting for the room to air out and the cyanide to evaporate and disperse, Sands performed the next action on his emergency procedure checklist; he lit up and took a drag.
A minute later, the door opened and Sands immediately froze, not knowing who it was.
“Sands?” Cam’s voice asked, and Sands shot to his feet quickly. Evidently, it was a little too quickly, as he felt a sudden wave of nausea sweep over him. Leaning heavily against the table, Sands motioned for Cam to stop. “Stop!” Sands ordered, and he heard Cam’s footsteps halt immediately.
“Close the door and lean against it. Don’t come into the room any farther,” Sands said, fighting the lingering dizziness he felt as he waved a hand around in the air, cigarette still held firmly between his fingers. “The air in here is a real pregnant dog.” Sands let out a small cough, accentuating his point. “Not too fresh. Dig?”<br> Kneeling down, he retrieved the ampoule he’d used and tossed it towards Cam. Cam caught it, unaware of what it was. “I sniff this?” he asked after a moment.
“Righty-o,” Sands confirmed, taking another puff and sitting on the edge of the table, waiting for his dizziness to go away.
Cam took a large whiff of the ampoule, coughing as he asked, “Am I good?”<br> “Stay away from Jackson for a few minutes and you should be keen. The cyanide evaporates quickly.”<br> Cam nodded, walking into the room and keeping as far away from Jackson’s body as possible. “You alright? You look a little pale.”<br> “I always thought pale was a good look for me,” Sands drawled, still feeling a little nauseated. “I just finished dancing with the devil.”<br> “Really? And what did you find out?”<br> “That I’m a much better dancer.”<br> Sands heard Cam sit down in the chair next to where he was sitting. “About Jackson, Sands.”
“He admitted he was working for Martin,” Sands said as he flicked his cigarette ash out the window. He had no intention of leaving any evidence that he was in this room. “You wearing gloves, Cam?” Sands asked quickly.
“Yeah.”<br> “Spiffy,” Sands said, tossing his cigarette out the window and grinning. “I knew you had to remember something from the Farm. You ready for a little scavenger hunt?”<br> Cam chuckled as he stood. “You know it’s what I live for.”<br> “That I do.” Thinking for a moment, Sands walked over and began searching Jackson’s body. He heard Cam open a desk drawer and shuffle through some papers. Finding Jackson’s cell, Sands pocketed it for further inspection later. “Is there anything on the floor?” Sands asked. “I thought I heard him drop something.”<br> Cam glanced down at the carpet and spotted the envelope. “It’s a manila envelope,” Cam confirmed as he picked it up and opened it.
Sands stepped back from Jackson, and turned his attention to the bed, sticking a probing hand underneath the mattress.
As Cam removed some documents from the envelope, he looked up at Sands and commented, “You’re not going to find anything under the mattress. That’s far too obvious.”<br> Sands smirked and stood, moving to inspect the other side of the bed. “You may know your clandestine surveillance and secret entry, but I know my psychology.”<br> As Sands continued to search under the mattress, Cam unfolded the papers he found in the envelope. “Holy nuts,” Cam swore as he realized what he was looking at.
Sands looked towards Cam at the exclamation, and Cam started for a second at the sight of him without his sunglasses. He had no idea why it suddenly unnerved him, when he’d walked in moments earlier without any problem. The fake blood wasn’t making it any easier. He supposed he’d never fully get used to it, and he suspected that Sands probably wouldn’t either.
“What is it?” Sands asked anxiously.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he cleared his throat before answering. “False documents… it appears as though Jackson was going to deliver some forged records to a higher up at the Company,” Cam said, ruffling through them. “They have your signature on them but…” Cam trailed off and shook his head. “It doesn’t look right. Sands, you have your wallet?”<br> Taking his right hand out from under the mattress, he retrieved the wallet out of his pocket and tossed it to Cam before returning to his search.
|
|
|
Post by AgentScarlett on Apr 26, 2005 11:19:38 GMT -5
Cam flipped open the leather and took out Sands’ ID. Not lingering on the photo for too long, he started comparing the signatures on the documents to the one on the ID. He was trained to forge false documents, but also trained to catch them as well. It was clear to Cam that the ID and the false documents weren’t signed by the same person. “Someone’s trying to frame you in a big way,” Cam said at last, reading some of the information the documents contained.
“Gee Cam, you think?” Sands asked sarcastically, pulling a small object out from under the mattress. He recognized the feel, shape and size of it instantly, and flipped it between his fingers a few times as Cam spoke.
“These documents… they’re a fake agreement between you and Armando Barillo. They even have Barillo’s signature…” Cam trailed off as he mulled things over in his mind.
“Wow,” Sands deadpanned. “In bed with Armando Barillo. What a horrifying thought.”<br> Cam glanced at Sands, then back at the papers in his hands. Folding them up, he put them back in the envelope. Placing the envelope in his pocket, he went over to Jackson’s suitcase and opened it.
Sands started searching the nightstand for any interesting items, and Cam smiled happily when he saw Sands’ change of location. “See, I told you that you wouldn’t find anything under the mattress.”<br> Sands bit back a snicker as he opened the nightstand drawer. Finding nothing of interest, he shut it and walked over to Cam. “You have to get it right one of these days Cam. It’s the law of averages. However,” Sands reached into his pocket and produced his find. “Today just isn’t that day. Better luck next time.”
Cam eyed it doubtfully before stating the obvious. “It’s a silver dollar.”<br> Sands shot Cam a trying look. “Really Cam, sometimes I wonder how you graduated from the Farm.” With the coin between his fingertips, Sands pressed down on a point near the rim, and the top side of the coin popped up to reveal a secret compartment. “Silver dollar for your thoughts, Cam? Are there microdots inside?”<br> Cam took a step closer to get a better look inside the small compartment. “Well, I’ll be d**ned. Microdots.”<br> Sands closed the fake silver dollar. “This might just be the proof I need,” Sands drawled, tucking the coin safely into his back pocket. “Then again, it might have nothing to do with me.” Sands retrieved his pack of cigarettes, and tapped one out as Cam finished going through Jackson’s suitcase.
“Everything has to do with you Sands. I found that out a long time ago.”<br> Sands nodded as he took a drag. “You’re learning, Eric. You’re learning.”<br> ~*~
Latin Translations
“Stultum est timere quod vitare non potes.”<br>It is foolish to fear that which you cannot avoid.
Spook Speak Terminology
Microdots – Tiny photographs of messages, secret documents, or other images which are so small that they can only be read with a special magnifying viewer. A full-page document can be as tiny as 1 mm in width.
|
|
|
Post by AgentScarlett on Apr 26, 2005 11:24:13 GMT -5
Chapter 35 – You, Me And The Devil Makes Three
Cam searched Jackson’s suitcase thoroughly, not finding anything of interest. Closing it, he turned back to Sands. "Should we search the car?" he asked, watching Sands as he smoked, seemingly deep in thought.
Sands shook his head. "Later, Gator."
Cam studied Sands for a moment. He was still pale, and acting a little spacey. "You sure you’re alright?"
"Si finis bonus est, totum bonum erit," Sands muttered, before saying to Cam, "I’m just fabulous." Tossing his second cigarette out the window, Sands continued. "Go back to my room and nab a change of clothes, and my good pair of sunglasses. I sense I’ll attract some unwanted attention if I walk down the hall in my current state."
"Since when have you not wanted to be the center of attention?" Cam asked sarcastically.
"It’s all about knowing when to take the spotlight."
Cam rolled his eyes, walking to the door. "I’ll be right back."
After the door closed, Sands collapsed into the nearest chair, exhaustion taking hold. He felt like nuts, and knew that he must have looked like it too. Although his breathing had returned to normal, the dizziness hadn’t left him, and he was beginning to feel increasingly nauseous. To make matters worse, a burning sensation was starting to develop where his eyes once were, and he wasn’t sure if the source of the irritation was the cyanide or the fake blood. It could have been either, or a combination of both. In any case, he needed to get off whatever was causing the stinging right away.
Dragging himself out of the chair and walking into the bathroom, Sands closed the door, grabbed a washcloth off the rack and turned on the water. He scrubbed the fake blood off his face, but avoided getting too close to his eyes. It was where he really needed to wash to get rid of the fake blood, but he still couldn’t bring himself to touch the area.
‘Over a month and I still can’t do it,’ he thought to himself in disgust, continuing to feel light-headed as his hand clutched the edge of the countertop. It was amazing how much worse the nausea was, and how much harder it was to fight off when he couldn’t see what was around him to get his bearings. ‘It’s time I faced reality.’<br> Sands dropped the washcloth in the sink, moving an uncertain hand towards where the irritation was. His hand faltered as it hovered above his left socket before finally running a finger along its edge. The burning sensation increased with the contact, along with his queasiness.
‘My eyes should be here,’ his mind screamed, still unable to fully grasp that two empty holes were there instead of his eyes. ‘I shouldn’t be able to feel this. I shouldn’t be able to run my hand along an empty eye socket, much less two. I shouldn’t be able to feel the foreign, unnatural, alien, empty cavities that are there now.’ Of course they couldn’t just blind him. The cartel wasn’t that kind. They had to take his eyes completely, not just their use.
Still clinging to the countertop as if it was the only thing rooting him to the real world, he leaned over the sink as dry heaves racked his already exhausted body. His stomach had nothing to lose. The last time he’d eaten was on the flight over, and that hadn’t been much. When the gagging subsided he cradled his face in his hands, taking deep breaths to steady himself as the counter supported all of his weight. ‘What am I going to do when this is over?’ He still hadn’t answered that question.
"Where are you, Jeff?"
Startled by Cam’s voice, he quickly pulled himself back together, opened the bathroom door and held a hand out for his clothes. Cam gave Sands what he’d asked for, and Sands set them down on the bathroom counter.
"Time to mop up, Cam," Sands announced, clearing his throat.
"You mean, time for me to help you clean up after your wet work."
"Well, it’s a dirty job but somebody’s got to do it," Sands said, handing him the used washcloth. He went over to the window and grabbed the gun. "Make sure you get the broken sunglasses, shirt, sports coat… and anything else that could suggest that someone else was here with Jackson while he croaked."
"Alright," Cam said, wasting no time in getting down to business. As far as he was concerned, the sooner he got out of Jackson’s room, the better.
Quickly, Sands changed out of his jeans and donned the fresh clothing. He took the microdots and Jackson’s cell phone out of his discarded pants, and tucked them into a pocket of the ones he was wearing, before joining Cam in the main room.
"Keycard?" Sands asked as he slipped on his sunglasses and tucked the gun in his pants.
"Yeah." Cam handed him the keycard, before grabbing the plastic bag out of the trashcan and shoving Sands’ contaminated clothes in it.
"What room are you staying in?"
"303," Cam answered, tying the bag closed.
"Happy cleaning." Nodding once, Sands quickly slipped out of the room.
Cam looked up just as Sands exited, surprised by the other officer’s willingness to let him clean everything up. It wasn’t like Sands at all, and it made him wonder exactly what went on between Sands and Jackson… and how much the cyanide had affected him.
---
Back in his room, Sands went straight into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. Stripping down again, he turned on the shower and stepped in. The water was scalding hot, but he didn’t care. Jackson’s words were starting to creep into his brain. He couldn’t stop them, much as he wanted to.
Grabbing the soap, Sands lathered up, trying to push it all out of his mind. He didn’t need this. Not now. Not when everything was coming to a head.
Most of what Jackson said, he’d dismissed without thinking twice. Cheap shots, nothing more. Elementary psychology. But with one sentence Jackson had hit him where it hurt the most, and he’d known as soon as Jackson said the words that they’d come back to haunt him later.
‘Better to die than to live like you.’<br> Sands ground his teeth, wishing he could kill Jackson all over again. Of course Jackson had to say something like that. It was an unpalatable reminder of his failure on the Day of the Dead. As if he didn’t already have a bitter reminder every morning when he woke up and saw nothing.
Sands pounded the shower wall with his fist. Anger and revenge dominated his thoughts. He was furious with Barillo for taking his eyes, with Martin for standing by and doing nothing, with Jackson for being such a useless f**kwad and traitor, with El and his eternal stubbornness. But most surprisingly, he was angry with himself because he hadn’t been able to stop any of it from happening. He’d temporarily lost his control, and it had cost him dearly.
After rinsing off, he stepped out of the shower and toweled himself dry.
He was no fool. He knew the cartel had let him walk out of that building in Mexico alive for one reason.
They’d let him walk away that day because it was much crueler to let him live. Death was the end. But this? It would stay with him for the rest of his life.
Wasn’t it funny? Wasn’t it f**king hilarious to take away the sight of a man who thrived on control? To make an independent man dependent on others? To ruin a career eleven years in the making in a quick half-hour?
Sands smiled bitterly. Ajedrez certainly thought so.
d**n her to hell.
d**n them all to hell.
Because he was having a hard time proving them wrong.
But he was going to prove them wrong… because he couldn’t live with himself otherwise.
Sands ran his fingers through his hair, grasping clumps of it roughly as he urged these thoughts to go away.
"One day, Sands, your job and what you do… it’ll break you, and I don’t want to be there when that day comes," Cecilia said, standing by the front door, a suitcase in hand. Sands walked up to her, and she backed away slightly, no longer sure of what he was capable of after what she’d found out today.
He grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her close, his eyes never leaving hers. "It’s my job, Cecelia. Just part of my f**king job. You knew I worked for the CIA, so why are you so surprised? Why is this so hard for you to take?"
She pulled away from his tight grip, opening the front door. "I can’t live with a murderer."
As Sands opened the bathroom door, he listened for any signs of El or Cam. Hearing none, he went straight over to the phone.
"Room service?" he asked. "Yeah. Get me a large bottle of tequila. Room 202. Don’t bother with the ice."
Hanging up the phone, he leaned against the headboard. ‘Just get even and be done with it all. Move on and forget all this.’<br> ‘Move on…’ He shook his head slightly. It was time to start setting things up. If he didn’t, there would be no job at the CIA waiting for him when all was said and done.
Fortunately, he already had a plan.
|
|
|
Post by AgentScarlett on Apr 26, 2005 11:26:38 GMT -5
---
After cleaning up Jackson’s room, Cam found El in the hotel’s dining room, sitting alone at a table in the far corner.
Cam sat down across from him, eyeing the Mariachi wearily. He didn’t know what to think of the man, and they hadn’t had any real time to get to know each other. All he knew was he didn’t trust him. He had to admit though, after finding the Mariachi and Sands in what appeared to be a death match, he was curious as to what kind of history the two men had together.
After a moment, Cam asked curiously, "What do you have against him?"
Meeting Cam’s eyes, El said nothing.
"What is it? He use you?" Cam continued to prod.
"Yes."
"Well, join the club," Cam said, chuckling. "You know, as bad as it sounds… it’s his job. He’s an not a very nice person, but he’s an official not a very nice person."
El set down his fork, shifting in his seat slightly in an effort to get comfortable on the hardback chair. "He is no better than the enemies he fights."
Elbows on the table, Cam leaned towards El. "I’ve known Sands for over ten years, and I still can’t say that I know him. You’ve worked with him on one operation, and claim to know what he’s all about."
"It is clear, what Agent Sands is about."
"Officer Sands is all about getting the job done," Cam stated, emphasizing the word officer.
"No. He’s about power."
Cam nodded his head. "Oh yes, most definitely. But the two are not separate from each other; they intertwine."
El took another bite of his Pollo en Pipian, not having anything to say.
"Why don’t you try talking to him? He may surprise you," Cam said, not willing to let the subject drop.
El shook his head slightly. "I don’t think so."
"Did he tell you what happened to him on the Day of the Dead?" Cam asked, doubting that Sands had told him the whole truth. He knew very well that Sands wouldn’t let anyone in on his little secret if it were possible. Even he didn’t know the full details.
"Not completely."
"Well, why don’t you find out? If you do, you’ll clearly see who got the better end of the deal. The bottom line is that you want to get home and I want to get home. Our goal would be reached much quicker if all three of us could work together without threatening to blow each other’s heads off every time we attempt to carry out a part of the op."
"And what does Sands want?"
"What makes you think I know? Ask him yourself."
El again said nothing as Cam signaled a waitress. He asked for two orders of beef chimichangas to be sent to room 303 before turning back to El.
"Think about what I said," Cam continued as he got up to leave. "If you agree, meet me in my room, 303, in about half an hour."
"What if I don’t agree?"
Cam shrugged, pushing in his chair. "Well then, I’m sure Sands will make good on his threats."
---
Taking another long pull out of the tequila bottle in his hand, Sands wished his brain would succumb to that merciful numbness that so many people experienced while drinking. But alcohol didn’t affect him that way. His mind never stopped. It was always turning, always thinking, always plotting and coming up with the next great scheme, and he’d learned long ago that his brain was both his best friend and his worst enemy.
He came to the conclusion that he wanted to get drunk. He wanted to get wasted out of his mind and that was a rare occasion indeed. He remembered Cecelia once telling him that he was the only person she’d ever met who could be totally sloshed yet completely sober at the same time.
He listened to the television distractedly, as some news anchor spouted the latest Mexico headlines in monotonous Spanish. He would have changed the channel, but considering the hotel only had three or four to begin with, he doubted he’d discover anything better than the news.
Figuring that sitting around and drinking was getting him nowhere, Sands decided to pay Cam a visit, or perhaps even El. Admittedly, the empty tequila bottle and growing boredom may have had something to do with the decision.
---
Cam opened his door, coming face to face with El. Stepping aside to let him in, Cam smiled. "I guess you’re not as stupid as Sands led me to believe."
Closing the door, Cam followed El into the room.
"Have you worked with Sands for a long time?" El asked, sitting at the little table by the window.
Cam remained standing as he joined him by the table. "Like I said downstairs, I’ve known Sands for over ten years. We’ve worked together on several operations since we graduated from the Farm."
"The Farm?" El asked.
"Oh, right. It’s where the CIA trains their officers."
El nodded once. "Why are you here?"
Cam laughed. "I’ve asked myself that same question many times, believe me."
"Well?"
"I guess it’s because I’ve known him for so long… and I owe it to him."
"How can you owe him anything?"
Before Cam could reply there was another knock on the door. Answering it, he was startled to find Sands standing in the doorway wearing a wig and a corny T-shirt, with his cane in hand. "Sands. Why are you wearing a red Orphan Annie wig?"
"I just wanted to see what you thought of my newest disguise," Sands said, slurring his words as he walked into the room.
Cam signaled for El to stay quiet before looking Sands up and down. Other than the ridiculous wig, Sands was wearing the pair of jeans he’d brought him and a shirt that declared in white letters, ‘Bomb squad: If you see me running, try and keep up,’ on the front.
"Might consider ditching the bomb squad T-shirt."
His cane touching the bed, Sands sat down and retracted it, placing the humiliating object back in his pocket where it belonged. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, then shook his head. "I’d rather toss the wig," he said decisively, chucking the curly wig at Cam, who caught it and quickly plopped it onto the dresser. "I like the shirt," Sands said by way of explanation.
"So what brings you here?" Cam asked, glancing at El out of the corner of his eye.
"Your powerful animal magnetism, of course," Sands said with a straight face. "Plus I’m out of booze in my room and we need to make sinister plots against the many evildoers in this world," he continued, keeping up the slur despite the fact that he didn’t really have one. He could hear someone else in the room, breathing softly and trying to keep quiet, and he decided to put Cam through a little bit of a test.
Whether Cam passed or failed wasn’t really important. It was the distraction of playing head games which was needed, and focusing his overactive mind on much more productive activities, such as freaking out Cam.
|
|
|
Post by AgentScarlett on Apr 26, 2005 11:28:44 GMT -5
"Are you actually drunk?" Cam asked, sounding somewhat shocked by the idea.
Sands smiled proudly and pointed a finger at Cam, purposefully missing his mark by a few feet. "I prefer the term plastered. Makes me sound like a concrete wall… one that can’t be broken down." He laughed, as if he’d just told a great joke, and it sounded odd to everyone’s ears, including his own.
El cast a curious glance at Sands, the laugh snaring his attention. That, and he hadn’t imagined the agent as a drinker. Suspicious, he couldn’t help but wonder what this was all about.
"Just how much have you had to drink, Sands?" Cam asked him curiously.
Sands held a hand up to count, standing. "One tequila, two tequila, three tequila… floor," he ended as he swayed on his feet.
Cam resisted the urge to steady him, asking instead, "What’s your plan?"
Sands dug into his pocket, not answering the question.
"What’s bugging you, Sands?" Cam asked directly after a lengthy silence.
Grabbing a cigarette, Sands lit up, waggling his finger at Cam. "You're at it again, you're trying to run the game, and I'm not gonna play." Taking a drag, he walked towards Cam. "I run the game, not you." He pretended to be a bit off kilter, preparing to reel Cam in. "Even if something was bothering me, what makes you think I’d tell you?"
"You can trust me, Sands." Sands pursed his lips at the word trust and Cam continued quickly, "You can tell me. It’ll stay just between you and me."
"Just between you and me?" Sands blew a cloud of smoke into Cam’s face. "I can trust you?" he asked seriously.
Cam swallowed hard, getting the distinctly bad feeling that he had just let himself fall into a trap, but unable to turn back now he answered, "Yes, you can."
"Hmm." Sands backed away from Cam and walked towards the window. Much to Cam’s dismay, he was headed right towards El as well. El remained as silent as possible and Sands still appeared oblivious to the mariachi’s presence as he neared him.
A few feet in front of El, Sands spun back around and asked Cam soberly, "Honestly? I can trust you implicitly?"
"Yeah," Cam replied, even as warning bells went off in his mind.
Sands pulled out his .45 and aimed it straight at El. "Then I can pull this trigger right now, and not worry about embedding a piece of lead in El’s cranium?" Sands tilted his head in silent question.
Cam closed his eyes. ‘d**n it, you idiot!’ He’d walked right into it.
Sands thingyed the gun. "Well?"
Cam sighed heavily. "I’m sorry Sands, I just thought that…"
Sands lowered the gun. "Oh, don’t worry Cameron. Honesty may be the best policy, but by a process of elimination, dishonesty is the second-best policy."
"I was just…"
"Believe me, Cam, I know exactly what you were trying to do, and you’d never have attempted it if you thought I was sober," Sands cut in smoothly, approaching Cam again, all signs of drunkenness gone. "You wanted me to open up in front of El, so he’d suddenly have an epiphany and work with us willingly. There are only several major problems with that idea of yours. Congratulations on a badly thought out plan that even Jackson wouldn’t have fallen for." Without warning, Sands’ rammed the butt of his gun forcefully into the side of Cam’s head, and Cam crumpled ungracefully to the floor.
Sands took another puff of his cigarette before turning towards El as the Mariachi spoke.
"He meant nothing by it."
Sands ignored his comment, deciding to get straight to the point. He knew what he needed to do now to get El to work with him. He was going to hate every minute of it, but if it meant a successful operation then he’d do it. "El, I think it’s time you and I chewed the fat. You know… Officer to Mariachi, assassin to pistolero, law enforcer to law breaker…"
"Agreed," El cut in quickly, taking advantage of Sands’ need to suck in a breath.
Tucking his gun back in its holster, Sands nodded and walked over to the window, hands positioned ever so slightly in front of him to prevent any run-ins with furniture in the unfamiliar room. Opening the window, he motioned for El to continue. "I’d rather this didn’t take all night, so let’s get real. What is it?" he asked bluntly.
El drummed his fingers on the table, watching Sands closely. "What is it?"
Sands turned to face him. "Haven’t you had enough games, El?"
El smirked as he regarded Sands thoughtfully. "I thought you enjoyed your games."
A thick cloud of smoke filtered out Sands’ nose. "I do. But eventually I tire of old games, and have to make room for new ones. So… what is it, El? What will make you willingly do this job for me?"
"I thought I already agreed."
Sands shook his head. "No, you haven’t. You can’t mislead me." Sands smirked. "You’re still trying to make up your mind."
El thought about it for a moment. "Tell me the truth," he said, deciding that that was what he wanted.
Sands tilted his head towards El. "About?" he asked, knowing full well what El was referring to. He wasn’t at all surprised at his request. It was what he’d been expecting.
"Día de los Muertos."
"Ah, Día de los Muertos," Sands said ruefully. "¿Por qué?"<br> "I want to know."
Sands flicked his cigarette out the window as he thought of the best way to go about this. Moving away from the window, he joined El at the table. "I can’t tell you what happened on the Day of the Dead," Sands said, adjusting his sunglasses absentmindedly. He really didn’t want to go through with this.
"Then I can’t work for you willingly," El stated, disappointed. He’d hoped that Sands could answer at least one of his questions truthfully. Apparently, he was wrong to hope for such honesty from the officer. He began to get up, but Sands’ voice stopped him.
"Sit back down, Mr. Bojangles."
Easing back into his seat, El waited for Sands to continue, but Sands took his time in doing so.
"I can’t tell you because I can’t…" he trailed off and sighed. d**n, he didn’t want to do this. Forcing himself to continue, he said finally, "I can show you." Taking a long breath, Sands began to explain. "It starts with betrayal, El. You, Cucuy, Ajedrez… but most importantly, Martin."
"Who is Martin?" El asked when Sands’ paused.
"My superior officer… using the term loosely, of course." Sands smirked. "You see, he was supposed to send me backup, but he never did. Martin left me high and dry in the middle of Culiacan with the cartel shadowing my every move."
"They get tired of your games, Agent Sands?" El asked.
"Ah! But that’s the twist. He burned me without the CIA’s blessing. He handed me to the cartel on a silver platter, and now I’m going to make sure the bastard gets what’s coming to him."
"What exactly did the cartel do to you?"
"You know that I’m blind. What more do you need?"
"I think that there is more."
"There’s always more."
El waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t, said, "You said you could show me."
Sands exhaled slowly, as if he’d been dreading something he knew was coming. He leaned back in his chair and it creaked slightly against his weight. Sluggishly, he reached up and took off his sunglasses, tossing them onto the center of the table.
Sands heard El’s sharp intake of breath as he pushed his chair back slightly.
"So now you know, El. Do you feel enlightened?" Standing up, he went over to the window again and lit another cigarette. If it had been a bad habit of his to light up before, it was doubly so now. Placing the lighter back in his pocket he commented, "You know, sometimes I think revenge and cigarettes are all that’s holding me together." He chuckled as he thought out loud, "That would make a good bumper sticker."
Quickly becoming serious, he leaned against the wall so that he was facing El, feeling far too exposed. However, he’d be d**ned if he was going to show any of his anxieties to El. "You see the truth in my eyes, so I expect no less from you. Will you willingly do this job for me, or not?"
"I’m sor…"
"Don’t you dare say that to me," Sands said, a threat clearly evident in his voice. He’d play the victim if necessary, but he’d never accept pity from anyone, least of all from the man sitting in front of him now. "Answer my question, yes or no."
"I don’t like you, Sands," El began again.
"Good. One less Christmas card for me to buy this year. That’s not what I asked you."
"I’ll do this if you keep your word about never bothering me again," El said, lowering his gaze to the tabletop, not wanting to look at what had happened to the officer any longer. He’d heard of cruelty like this from the cartel before, seen men with no hands as punishment for upsetting Barillo, but it never made it any easier for him to take. Taking both eyes was something he’d never heard of until now, but he knew all too well that the cartel was fully capable of doing such things. It was true that as much as he disliked the officer, he never would have wished for this to happen to him. Funny how the thought of the man’s death hadn’t bothered him anywhere near as much.
Moving back to the table, Sands put both palms on the tabletop and leaned in towards El. "As welcoming as your country has been to me, I don’t think I’ll wish to visit again anytime soon. You see, I don’t like tacos and good slow roasted pork is hard to come by."
El sat there for a moment, staring hard at Sands as the officer retrieved his sunglasses from the table and slipped them back on. Inwardly, El heaved a sigh of relief. "Alright, I’ll do it."
Sands nodded, then leaned sideways in his chair, as if looking over El’s shoulder. El turned to see what had gotten Sands’ attention, and saw that Cam had moved a little. He’d probably be waking up soon. "Why are you being so honest with me?"
"I thought it was time for a change," Sands quipped. "It was the only way to get you to cooperate with me, was it not? You see," Sands smiled, leaning in. "If it means getting what I want, I’ll play whatever part I need to play."
|
|
|
Post by AgentScarlett on Apr 26, 2005 11:29:28 GMT -5
"Why tell me this?"
"I’m sorry, did I offend you? I guess I should have lied, but that would have spoiled our arrangement."
El remembered what Cam had said at their meeting a little while ago, and asked without thinking, "Who are you, Sands?"
Not expecting the question, Sands’ eyebrow crept up in mild surprise. "I’m whoever I need to be, of course. And I’ll be your worst nightmare if you fail to keep your word now, understand?"
"I do."
Sands held out his hand, and El shook it reluctantly.
"I feel as though I’m making a deal with the devil," El muttered.
Amused by his words, Sands tightened his grip. "Maybe you are. You never can be too sure."
---
Latin Translations
Si finis bonus est, totum bonum erit. - If the end is good, then everything will be good.
|
|
|
Post by Sandspartnerncrime on Apr 28, 2005 19:03:12 GMT -5
Awesome. These chapters were really funny and I love how every one is portrayed. Can't wait to read more!
|
|
|
Post by AgentScarlett on May 9, 2005 14:00:04 GMT -5
Thanks so much, Sands partner in crime! I'm very happy you're enjoying the story, and like my take on Sands. He's such a cool character -- I really have a blast writing him. ~Scarlett
|
|
|
Post by AgentScarlett on May 9, 2005 14:02:08 GMT -5
Chapter 36: Body of Evidence
Sands released El’s hand as he moved past. Coming to stand beside Cam, he tapped a foot impatiently as he waited for the officer to pull himself off the floor.
"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," Sands said, offering Cam an unusually helpful hand up.
Cam eyed Sands’ proffered hand wearily before tentatively grasping it.
Sands jerked him up unceremoniously. "Even a little white lie can come back to bite you in the ass, Cam. Don’t do it again," Sands said dangerously, squeezing Cam’s hand painfully to accentuate his point.
Extracting himself from Sands’ grip, Cam walked over to the bed and sat down heavily as he gently felt the lump beginning to form at the base of his skull. "I was just trying to get you two to reach an understanding."
"I know. That’s why you’re not dead right now," Sands said bluntly. "In fact, El and I did reach an understanding during your siesta."
A knock on the door caused El and Cam to look towards it. "Expecting someone else?" Sands asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Food," Cam said shortly, feeling more than a little irritable. His head throbbed painfully when he stood up and went to answer the door.
Returning with the food, Cam handed Sands his chimichanga before sitting down on the bed and taking a bite out of his own.
"What’s this?" Sands asked, holding the plate in front of him.
"Dinner. Eat it," Cam said between bites of food.
Sands rejoined El, his plate dropping to the table with a light thud. "We can’t catch flies with vinegar, so I think it’s time to get out the honey trap."
Cam swallowed his mouthful of food before asking, "Feeling violent today?"
"No, just creative with weapons," Sands replied calmly, idly spinning his plate on the table with an index finger and listening to the sound it made as the ceramic turned on the wooden tabletop. "Soon Martin will realize that he’s no longer getting any of those nifty reports from Jackson. It won’t take long for him to put two and two together."
Cam nodded his agreement. "I still don’t completely understand what Jackson was going to do with you."
Sands stilled his plate. He’d figured out what Jackson had planned to do with him, the revelation coming after several swigs of tequila. His exchange with Jackson repeated itself in his mind, and the only upside to it was that he’d been able to glean some crucial information about Jackson and his motives. It was clear that Jackson was no assassin, and that he’d had no intention of killing him. After all, he’d had plenty of time to try and off him if that had been his assignment. By process of elimination and Jackson’s lack of any specifically honed skills, he guessed that Jackson was most likely a bridge officer. "He was intending to make a special delivery to Martin. Me."
Cam was about to ask how Sands knew that, but El cut in before he could voice the question.
"What are we going to do?"
"We are not going to do a d**n thing. You are going to take Jackson’s car, drive down to CIA headquarters, and search for any and all documents with my name on them." Sands tasted the food in front of him and grimaced. "What is this?"
Cam wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Beef. It’s what’s for dinner."
"Haven’t you ever heard of the other meat?" Sands asked dryly. "You know, pork?"
Shifting his attention back to El, he plopped the chimichanga back onto the plate. "You’ll also want to keep a sharp eye out for any files with information about operation number…" Sands stopped mid-sentence. "Write this down. I’m not going to repeat it."
Cam glanced at Sands, as El grabbed a notepad and pen. "He’s going to headquarters alone?" Cam asked skeptically.
"The assignment is simple enough. I’m sure a man of El’s reputation can handle a little illegal entry and theft. Besides, you and I have bigger fish to fry."
"Such as?" Cam prodded.
"Martin," Sands said, his grumbling stomach winning over his tastebuds as he took another bite of his meal.
"We’re staying here?"
"That’s the plan." Sands faced El again. "Ready? I’d hate to rush you," he continued sarcastically.
"Yes," El grunted.
Nodding, Sands started where he’d left off. "Grab any documents with operation codename Intense Harvest or personnel codename Iron Ocelot."
Cam laughed. "So it’s Iron Ocelot this time?" Sands smirked as Cam asked, "Who comes up with these codenames?"
"That’s classified information, Chicken Little," Sands countered, smirking at the memory of one of Cam’s more embarrassing codenames.
"I’ll take no guff from you, Carnivorous Leech," Cam shot back.
"That one was cool," Sands drawled, pushing away his empty plate before digging out a cigarette.
"It fit," Cam said, watching Sands light up. "This is a non-smoking room."
Sands smiled humorlessly, inhaling deeply. "Not anymore."
"Is that everything?" El interrupted.
Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Sands asked, "What are you going to do when you have the documents?"
El, realizing the stupidity of his question, grudgingly muttered, "I do not know."
"Of course not, because I haven’t told you yet." Sands flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette. "When you’re done with your search, you’ll go back to Guitar Town with the documents and wait with bated breath for my call."
"I do not have a phone."
"What happened to the last one I gave you?" Sighing, Sands continued without waiting for an answer. "I'll drop a cell off for you before you go. Hang on to it this time. Those things can be f**king expensive."
"Why my home?"
"Because home is where the heart is." Sands took another drag as he waved a hand in dismissal, his acerbity not escaping El’s notice. "Best to ask any questions you have now. This could be the last time you see me."
El’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. "You are not picking up the documents?"
"No."
"Then why am I doing this?" El asked, unable to understand Sands’ logic.
"I said that I will not pick them up. I didn’t say they wouldn’t be picked up by someone."
El shook his head a little. "From you, I expected a large shoot out with much bloodshed," El told him dryly.
Sands said nothing at first, while he decided what to tell El. "That’s exactly the point."
El regarded Sands thoughtfully. The officer continued to surprise him, which was in and of itself quite… surprising. It was a continual reminder to not underestimate the man. His ability to anticipate what others would do and how they would think was both astounding and unnerving. "No wonder it bothers you so much," El said at last.
A frown creased Sands’ forehead. "What?"
"What happened on Día de los Muertos. You didn’t anticipate it. That’s why you need your revenge."
Sands’ muscles tensed at El’s words. So reminiscent of Ajedrez’s they sent a tingle down his spine. "That’s deep, El. Really deep. But you’re also wrong, so why don’t you leave the psychobabble to the pros, like me, and stick to what you’re good at, shooting people?"
OK, so he wasn’t exactly telling El the full truth. The fact that he hadn’t been able to see the setup coming did eat at him, but it wasn’t what truly drove his need for revenge, and he certainly wasn’t about to give El the satisfaction of knowing he’d seen through part of his mask. "Any other questions?"
"What do I do when I run into CIA personnel?"
Sands shrugged. "I don’t really give a f**k if you shoot them, hide from them, or just wound them. I’ll leave all those fun details to you. My only requirements are that you get the job done and you don’t get caught. However," Sands motioned El to wait a moment as he reached inside his jean pocket and came up with a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and set it on the table in front of El. "This should help you make a more stealthy entrance."
Looking at it, El realized that it was a building plan of the CIA headquarters. "On the back of this, I wrote down Martin’s full name, and where his office is located, as well as some other information that might prove useful." Sands quirked an eyebrow. "I find it interesting that I told you to get any documents with my name on them, and you never asked what my full name actually is."
El took the piece of paper, and stuck it in his pant pocket. "I thought I’d take any documents with the last name Sands."
"Nice thought El. But what if the documents only have my initials?"
"I did not think of it," El said bluntly.
"The initials would be SS or SJS, for Sheldon Jeffery Sands. I want you to leave in about…" Sands trailed off and turned to Cam. "What time is it, anyway?"
"Nine."
"Leave in three hours. Leave on time, and drive straight through with only the necessary stops… because timing is everything in this little game of ours. Half past four you need to be inside headquarters. Try not to take more than an hour at headquarters, and definitely don’t stay there longer than an hour and a half. You get your ass out of there with whatever you have, and drive straight to Guitar Town. You may want to make sure you’re not being followed while you do that. From there, you wait for my call, and you don’t take orders on what to do with the documents from anyone but me. Cam, did you get Jackson’s car keys?"
"Yup."
Sands held out his hand, and Cam passed the keys to him with a somewhat bewildered look. "Anything else you need to know?" Sands asked El.
"No."
"Then I suggest you rest up. In three hours you’ll be starting one hell of a day."
"The keys?" El asked.
Sands stuck them in his pocket. "You’ll get them when you need them."
Once El had left, Sands turned to Cam. "You have any of your trackers with you?"
Cam nodded and went over to his suitcase. "You know I always carry a few."
Sands nodded, stubbing his cigarette out on the table as he stood. "Got anything to drink?"
"There’s probably something in the minibar, eight o’clock," Cam said by way of direction as he found the trackers he had brought with him. "How many trackers do you need?"
|
|
|
Post by AgentScarlett on May 9, 2005 14:05:22 GMT -5
Sands opened the fridge door and, finding a shape that felt familiar, he grabbed it and twisted off the cap. "Two." Sniffing the contents of the bottle, he was happy to discover that it was brandy, and downed it quickly. It was cheap stuff, but then he really wasn’t in a position to be choosy at the moment.
"What are we going to do?" Cam asked, handing Sands the trackers.
"We’re going to let the bastards catch us."
Sands stepped out of the hotel lobby and into the night air. It was thankfully much cooler after sunset. It wasn’t that he had a problem with hot climates. After all, he’d grown up in Florida where the winters dipped down to a drastic seventy degrees. Floridians freak when they wake up with a covering of frost for Christ’s sake. No, it wasn’t exactly heat that bothered him.
His cane tapped lightly in front of him as he walked down the sidewalk and toward Jackson’s car, keeping an ear out for any vehicles or people that didn’t have his best interests in mind.
No, it wasn’t exactly heat that bothered him. It was this dry heat that he disliked. Dry heat and dust. He hadn’t minded it before the Day of the Dead, but now it affected him in a way he didn’t want to dwell on. Psychobabble aside, he knew very well that his mind was doing one hell of a number on him and the only way to pull it out of its downward spiral was to focus on his mission.
Stopping in front of a car, he went around to the driver’s side and tried the key. He heard the click as the door unlocked. He opened the door, grateful that he’d counted his steps right. He set the recently emptied shoulder bag down on the front seat and began searching the car, putting everything he found in the bag. There wasn’t much in the car. Anything that had any chance of being informative came from the glove compartment, and a small locked box that he found under the driver’s seat. Slinging the bag over his shoulder again, he slammed the door shut and moved to the back of the car. Popping the trunk he felt around and came across one more unidentified item. Putting it in with everything else, he zipped up the bag before taking a tracker out of his pocket.
‘Sorry, El, but trust isn’t my strong suit and I don’t trust you.’ Fingers running along the bottom of the trunk, Sands found a loose edge of carpet and pulled it up. Slipping the tracker between the fabric and the metal, he turned it on before smoothing the carpet back in place. There was only one thing left. He nabbed the guitar, and closed the trunk.
Hearing a car park, Sands leaned against Jackson’s car and set the guitar down beside him. He lit up a cigarette and took a drag as he listened to two people get out of the car and walk towards the hotel entrance.
Looking casual as he puffed at his cigarette, he waited until they were inside before walking to the car on the left of Jackson’s.
He took out the second tracker, flicked it on, and listened intently for any sign of other people in the parking lot as he took another drag. Hearing no one, he went to the front of the car and quickly slipped the tracker into the front grill. ‘I trust you even less, Ava.’<br> Having planted the trackers, he retrieved the guitar and slung it over his shoulder with the bag. As he did so, he heard a car pull into a spot about three spaces away. Starting back for the hotel, Sands stopped when he realized that nothing was guiding his way.
‘f**king cane.’ He’d left it on the driver’s side of Jackson’s car.
As he walked around the car his hearing was focussed on the sound of someone getting out of the vehicle that had just parked.
Bending down to search for his cane, he immediately bristled when the footsteps didn’t pass him and continue to the hotel entrance, instead coming to a halt directly in front of him.
Not knowing whether the individual was a threat or not, he continued to search for his cane, deciding to wait the person out. He heard his unknown visitor pick something up off the ground, so he stopped his search and lifted his head towards them.
"Looking for this?"
Sands straightened up from his crouch slowly. A woman’s voice, and a familiar one at that.
"In a manner of speaking," Sands said dryly. "Hello Tina."
He didn’t bother asking what brought her here. He was sure the Company had sent others besides Cam to bring him back to the States.
"It’s just business, Sands."
"Nothing personal," he finished, smirking. He took the cigarette from his lips, flicking off the dangling column of ash.
She had his cane still clutched in one hand as she continued. "Please don’t make this difficult, Sands. If you’re innocent of these crimes, like you say, then you don’t have anything to worry about."
She walked out from between the cars, and Sands followed, setting the bag and guitar down on the asphalt beside him.
"I’m hardly worried," he said, taking one last draw of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground.
He heard her sigh, and noted a hint of regret in her voice, as she said, "You should be."
Sensing what she was about to do, he ducked and kicked her legs out from under her before she could deliver a blow to his head with the cane she still held. She let out a startled cry as her feet went out from under her and Sands pushed her weight backwards as she fell. He knew he’d guessed her intentions right when the cane connected hard with his shoulder as she went down flat on her back.
The cane fell to the asphalt, rolling out of her reach. Tina struggled for breath, the sudden contact with the cement knocking the wind out of her.
Sands stepped over her prone body and knelt down, straddling her. Taking hold of her neck, he applied pressure, making it impossible for her to get her wind back.
Leaning in close, his expressionless mask in place, he said quietly in her ear, "You were always good, Doll, but never try and best the best."
He pulled away from her, listening to her wheeze. Loosening his grip on her neck slightly, he continued. "Although you’re not as sharp as you used to be."
Her knee came up, hitting him in the back in an attempt to push him off. Unfortunately for her, she was too weak from lack of oxygen and the blow lacked force. His grip on her neck loosened, however, when he was jarred forward from the blow, his sunglasses slipping down his nose.
Finding her voice, she said weakly, "And you’re not as pretty as you used to be. Guess we both…" She was cut off as Sands shifted his position, knee now pressed firmly against her throat.
He pushed his sunglasses up with an index finger, oblivious to the fact that she was reaching for the gun at her hip. As blackness closed in on the edges of her vision, she used the last of her strength to thingy her gun, aiming it at his stomach.
Hearing the gun being thingyed brought his attention back to Tina in a hurry. Not thinking clearly in his surprise, he looked down expecting to see the gun, and realized where she was aiming it. Cursing his foolishness, he quickly twisted to the side, hoping to escape the path of her bullet.
As blackness cloaked her vision, she squeezed her eyes closed and pulled the trigger. Sands let out a hiss of pain as he fell to her left. The pressure on her neck let up and she gasped for breath, her lungs burning. Coughing, she dropped the gun to the ground and opened her eyes. She lay on the ground for a minute, struggling to catch her breath. It took a moment for everything to come into focus, and she turned to see Sands lying beside her in an oddly twisted position, one leg still on top of her own.
Tina’s head swam as she sat up. Eyeing Sands warily, she picked up her gun and moved her legs out from under his. He seemed to be unconscious, and after retrieving her gun she crawled over to him cautiously, still not trusting her own legs to hold her up just yet.
She bent over him, her hand going to his throat, feeling for a pulse. Finding one, she breathed a small sigh of relief. It was better to return him to the Company alive rather than dead. Hearing someone, she looked up to see a man walk out of the hotel. She tucked her gun away and out of view just as he caught sight of the two of them.
"¿Quál es el problema?" he called out to her, approaching quickly.
"Do you speak English?" she asked, and he nodded.
"Si. A little. Is he hurt?" he asked, motioning to Sands’ still form as he stood next to her.
She closed Sands’ jacket to cover the blood on the side of his torso before she stood up. "Yes, but I think he’ll be alright. I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention and ran into him. I must have caught him off guard because he stumbled and fell. Hit his head on the ground."
He looked at her somewhat skeptically, and she reached over and grabbed the cane. "He must be blind," she continued, and he dropped his suspicious look.
"Need help?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, thank you. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding or anything. I’ll stay with him until he wakes up. No need for you to stay."
"What if he is hurt badly?"
"I don’t think he is, but if so I can go into the hotel and ask for help. Thank you, though."
The man nodded, wishing her luck as he walked away and got into a truck. Within a minute he was gone, and she let out a shaky breath before she leaned over Sands again, intending to disarm him while he was still out.
So it was a big surprise to her when he pressed his gun to her temple. "Don’t run. You’ll just die tired."
She didn’t have time to think about his comment. He pulled the trigger and she fell onto his chest, dead.
He pushed her off him roughly and stood, grimacing as he felt the pain in his side. He buttoned his jacket closed, covering the wound. Adjusting his sunglasses, he felt around until he found his cane.
|
|
|
Post by AgentScarlett on May 9, 2005 14:08:54 GMT -5
Picking it up, he slipped its band around his wrist, got out Jackson’s keys and unlocked the trunk. Opening it, he grabbed hold of Tina’s arms and dragged her to the trunk of the car, thankful that he didn’t have far to take her. Ignoring his protesting side, he picked her up and deposited her in the trunk.
He was sure El would be thrilled about this turn of events. One side of his mouth twitched up in amusement at the thought.
Closing the trunk, he slung the bag and guitar over his shoulder and headed back into the hotel.
Dropping the bag and guitar off in his room, and picking up an envelope he’d prepared earlier; he walked back down the hall to El’s room. He knocked on the door; it didn’t take long for El to answer.
Sands dangled the keys in front of El, and El took them with a grunt. "It is about time."
"Oh, stop complaining El," Sands said, leaning against the doorway, managing to keep the pain he felt out of his voice. "I’d think you would be happy. After all, you’re on your way home." He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, handing it to El. "Don’t be a stranger."
Pushing himself off the doorframe, he reached into the room and grabbed the doorknob. Before closing the door, he paused. "By the way, you might want to empty the trunk when you reach a deserted area."
Sands closed the door, leaving El to stand in his room, wondering what surprise Sands had in store for him now.
The moment Sands stepped into his room, he knew that something was wrong. He listened carefully for signs of anyone else in the room. Hearing none, he closed the door and walked further into the room. He didn’t make it far, his foot tripping over an unfamiliar object lying on the floor. Sands groaned in irritation as he caught himself before he fell, narrowly avoiding a hard collision with the ground.
Kneeling, his hand brushed up against the lump on the floor. As his hand ran along it, his stomach turned at the realization of just what it was.
A body.
And judging by its temperature and stiffness, a dead one.
"A gift for me?" Sands muttered as he searched the body, trying to figure out just who was lying on his floor. All he could tell was that the body was that of a man, but he didn’t know whose it was. "But it’s not even my birthday…"
His hand grazed a piece of paper that was pinned to the man’s shirt. Pulling it off, he quickly realized it wasn’t just an ordinary note. The paper wasn’t smooth. It had bumps on it.
But it wasn’t just bumps… it was Braille.
‘A f**king Braille note pinned to a corpse... in my hotel room.’<br> Sands let his fingers do the reading, and when he figured out what it said he nearly dropped it in horror.
I have seen too much.
"nuts!" Sands spat. Slowly he stood up and backed away from the body. His hand clutched the note tightly, as his mind screamed.
‘Who’d know? Who’d know what Barillo said to me right before he took my eyes? Who? Who? Who?’ Sands took a deep breath. ‘They’re all dead.’<br> Sands ran his fingers over the note again.
I have seen too much.
"You’ve only seen too much. I want to make sure that doesn’t happen again."
Barillo was dead. He knew that. Ajedrez was dead too. He shot her himself.
‘So who could’ve left this note? Who’d know?’<br> He was startled out of his thoughts by a phone ringing, but the ring wasn’t coming from the hotel phone. Sands snatched Jackson’s cell off the dresser. Making up his mind, he flipped open the cell and answered. "County morgue. You stab ‘em, we bag ‘em."
There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. "My God…. Sands?" It was Martin. "Where’s Jackson?" he asked, catching on quickly.
"I haven’t seen him," Sands said, keeping his voice neutral despite the rage he was feeling.
"You’ve killed him, haven’t you?"
"Oh yeah, he’s dead," Sands drawled. "But I’ll have him call you back later."
"You can’t stop what’s going to happen, Sands. I’ve put too much thought into this. You can’t escape this time. I know where you are."
"I know. So come and get me. Or are you such a coward that you can’t deal with one blind officer on your own?" God, how he hated to say that, but he needed Martin to come after him, and he’d rather Martin did it on his terms and his turf, rather than the other way around. "I know you’re nearby. Had to keep an eye on Jackson, after all." He paused for a moment. "So come and get me yourself mother-f**ker, if you’re man enough."
Sands snapped the cell phone shut, feeling his hands shaking.
‘I’ve put too much thought into this.’<br> d**n it, he should have known. He should have put the pieces together sooner.
Throwing the cell phone as hard as he could, it hit the wall with a crunch as he ran a hand through his hair. "You not a very nice person!" he screamed to nobody but himself, allowing his mind the loss of the trademark cool he was so known for, his voice cracking. "You f**king did this to me!"
He ran a hand over his face, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself.
Returning to his bed, he lifted the room phone from the cradle. Speaking to a man at the front desk, he asked about the package he was expecting. His blood ran cold when the man told him that it had already been picked up.
"What?" Sands asked, unable to believe it. "By who?"
"Signature says Sheldon Sands."
Slamming the phone down on the cradle, he tried to clear his mind enough to figure out just what his next move should be.
Approaching the body again, he knelt down next to it as he wondered just whose body it was. The only thing he knew for certain was that the body was that of a full-grown man, and his stomach knotted when the only two obvious choices entered his mind.
It was either Jackson… or Cam.
Not bothering to get up this time, he reached over and yanked the phone, cradle and all, off the nightstand. The base hit the ground with a thud and the same man he’d spoken to previously answered at the front desk again.
"Eric Cameron’s room." He tapped the side of the phone with his index finger nervously as it rang. ‘Answer the phone, Cam.’<br> After five rings, Cam picked up, and Sands felt surprisingly relieved.
"Yeah?"
"This is your wakeup call," Sands said.
"I don’t remember asking for one. Why’d you call?" Cam asked with a yawn.
"Because of all the people I know, you’re one of them," Sands said, his free hand searching the pockets of the man on the floor.
"I’m honored. Any other reason you called me in the middle of the night?"
"There have been some changes to the plan," he said cryptically. "Keep a sharp eye out. The wolves are baying at our door and we can’t be caught by surprise." He found a wallet in the right pocket, and as he turned it over in his hands he realized that he’d done so before. Recognizing the shape, size and clasp, he sighed and sat back on his heels.
"What’s happened?" Cam asked, quickly waking up as he realized that something must have happened.
"The package you ordered has been picked up," Sands said, opening the wallet and pocketing the money inside. Tossing the wallet over his shoulder, he interrupted Cam as he started to reply. "By me, no less."
"Then what’s the problem?"
"I wasn’t there at the time."
Cam paused a moment before figuring out what Sands was saying. "That’s not good. What’s the new plan?"
"You stay in your room. Wait for me to come. Don’t answer the door to anyone but me; not Ava, not El, not anyone. I may be a while, but stay put."
"I don’t like this," Cam said. "I’m here to help you, not sit here and do nothing."
"I’m touched," Sands deadpanned. "Just do it."
Hanging up, Sands turned his full attention back to the body on the floor. "Thanks for the spare change, Jackson. I’d hate to find out you’d stuck me with the hotel bill."
The note’s message repeated itself in his mind over and over as he bent over the body. "So, were you delivered by UPS, Fed Ex, or Air America," Sands mumbled. An image popped into his mind and before he even realized it, his right hand went to Jackson’s cheek. Fingers touching something wet and sticky, Sands’ steeled himself as his fingers moved further up Jackson’s face.
When he encountered the empty holes he’d been dreading, an involuntary shudder ran up his spine. He snatched his hand back quickly as if it had been burned.
He took a deep breath. Then another.
‘No eyes, no eyes, no eyes… that’s me.’<br>
|
|
|
Post by AgentScarlett on May 9, 2005 14:10:29 GMT -5
Sands pulled off his sunglasses. His breathing hitched as his hand grazed over one of his own empty sockets. "No," he whispered, pulling himself off the ground and backing towards the bed in the center of the room. "Just like me, but it’s not me. It’s not me," he muttered. Shaking his head back and forth as if to convince himself that it wasn’t true, he snatched up the pillow on his bed, and the gun that was hidden beneath it.
Kneeling down, he placed the pillow over Jackson’s face, thingyed the gun, and held it against the pillow.
Then he pulled the trigger.
He pulled the trigger three more times before he was able to regain control.
‘I’m on the razor’s edge,’ Sands thought to himself suddenly. Panting heavily from the sudden rush of adrenaline, Sands got up, not bothering to take the pillow off Jackson’s head.
‘What am I doing?’ he thought, tired of his constant struggle to remain in control.
A sharp twinge reminded him suddenly of the bullet wound in his side. He pulled his coat off gently, tossing it on the bed with his gun. When he felt his shirt, he realized that he’d lost more blood than he’d thought. It hadn’t felt like it was that bad.
At least it explained why he felt so drained. Removing his shirt, he held it against the wound as he dug around in his bag for his first aid kit. Finding it, he went over to the minibar and found another bottle of liquor, taking both items into the bathroom with him.
Taking the shirt away, he felt his side tentatively. He had accumulated an unbelievable amount of scars over the past few months, and now he had yet another one to add to the list.
The bullet had cut straight through his left side, in the front and out the back. He’d live. It hadn’t hit any vital organs, but it was bleeding like a son-of-a-pregnant dog. "Glad I dodged that bullet," Sands mumbled, as he began to patch himself up. If he had been in a better mood, he might have considered himself lucky. It had been a d**n close call.
After fixing himself up and taking a couple of aspirin to ease the pain, he decided to go through the bag of stuff he’d taken from Jackson’s car. He was especially curious about the locked box he’d taken from under the driver’s seat. What he found was interesting, indeed.
Sands knocked on Ava’s door. He had to admit, he was curious to see whether or not she had decided to stay. His question was answered a minute later when she opened the door.
She looked at Sands for a moment, noticing that he looked even paler than he had before, and stepped aside to let him in. "Come in."
Acting on her invitation, he came inside and she closed the door behind him. Sands turned to face her as she stood in the entryway. "Well, I must admit, I thought you were brighter than this, Miss Hunter."
She looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"
"If you were smart you would have left when I gave you the chance. But seeing as how you’re not, I don’t see why I shouldn’t use you to my advantage." Sands turned away and took a couple more steps into the room. Opening his coat and taking out an envelope, he redid a button before turning to her, holding up the envelope. "The information in this envelope can boost you to the highest ranks of journalistic excellence. Or, if you choose, it can make you very, very rich by selling it to the highest bidder. So, if I hand this envelope to you, what are you going to do with it?"
She came to stand next to him, sensing that he was testing her. "I’m going to do whatever you tell me to do with it."
"Are you, Sugar?
"Of course. But why tell me how valuable the information in it is?"
"If you were crooked, you’d open it anyway," Sands shrugged, handing it to her. "This includes information on a CIA operation in Culiacan. I am asking you to hold on to it."
"You don’t want me to do anything with it?" she asked, surprised.
"Just keep it," he said, giving her the envelope. "If you don’t, I’m sure I can think of a fitting end for you."
She nodded, swallowing thickly. "You don’t seem like the type to trust someone with documents such as these, so why are you?"
"Don’t flatter yourself Miss Hunter. Everything in that envelope is a copy of the original. You’re nothing more than backup. A little extra leverage against the Company." Sands smirked. "I believe in covering all bases."
"Can I ask you something?" Ava asked after a moment, envelope in hand.
"Shoot."
"Are you really blind, or is it just an act?"
Sands arched an eyebrow. "Are you really trustworthy?" he asked, walking past her to the door. "Pack up and leave. Right now. I assume that Tom knows how to contact you?"
"Yes."
"Groovy," Sands said, opening the door and listening for any movement in the hallway. Hearing none he stepped out of her room and called "Happy trails," to Ava, before closing her door. He had one more stop to make.
"What is this?" Cam asked, taking the clear baggy with two half-inch minidisks.
"My proof. At least part of it."
"You’re kidding! These are the recordings from your cell?"
"Seems that Jackson had a few surprises in his car," Sands said, removing a second smaller envelope from his jacket.
"Why are you giving these to me?" Cam asked. He knew that Sands was anything but trusting and he wondered why he didn’t just keep the recordings on him.
Sands tilted his head, pursing his lips slightly. "Any reason I shouldn’t?"
"Of course not… I just don’t think I’ll ever understand you. Why not keep them yourself?"
"Who said I wasn’t keeping a couple myself? But don’t you think it’s possible that when Martin comes, he’ll try to ensure that I have no evidence of his illegal acts of treason? What if he has someone else with him to search me or my room for this evidence? Never put all your eggs in one basket."
Putting the recording in the false bottom of his suitcase, Cam asked, "So what are we going to do now that the package with all the equipment didn’t arrive?"
"Sometimes you just have to do a little bit of improvising. Go with the flow. Stay here like I told you to. I’m hoping that they don’t know that you’re here. I’ve been careful about not being followed, but it’s better to be safe than sorry." Sands took out a second envelope, handing it to Cam.
"Alright," Cam said, recognizing the mode that Sands’ mind was now set in. All the bizarre metaphors, riddles and mind games dropped away, stripping Sands’ dialogue down to the bare need-to-know facts. It was the way he became with another officer or agent when an operation was at its climax. Somehow, seeing that Sands was still able to reach this mindset was oddly assuring.
"If anything goes wrong, and I don’t return to this room, you take this to the dead drop specified in two days."
Cam nodded, looking down at the directions taped to the envelope. Turning it over, his eyes widened as he read the name on the back.
Sheldon Sands.
"What is this about?" Cam asked.
"If I wanted you to know, I’d tell you. Just do it."
Cam sighed, tucking the envelope away in his suitcase. "Why are we staying? Why not leave with what we’ve found? Get the information El discovers and take it to the Company?"
Sands sat down at Cam’s table and took off his sunglasses, hanging them off the collar of his shirt. He sat there for a long time, and Cam could tell that he wasn’t in the room anymore, but somewhere else. He wore an indescribable look that seemed oddly out of place on his face. It took him a long time to speak, and when he did, he sounded utterly drained. His face was haggard and pale, and uncharacteristically pained.
"My biggest problem is that I believe everything that I tell myself."
Cam took a deep breath. Sands had never talked to him this way before, and might never do so again. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, waiting for Sands to elaborate.
"I told myself that I had control. If I don’t have control over myself, then I am nothing. I told myself that they couldn’t break me." He paused as he lit a cigarette. "I have to win this. I have to get my revenge against Martin. I have to prove him wrong." Sands took a long drag, holding the smoke in as long as he could. "I have to prove that I can’t be broken so easily," he said at last, leaning forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees as he smoked.
Cam was speechless. This doubt was not part of the Sands he knew, and he realized that Sands needed to do this to prove to himself that he was still the officer that he’d always been. He needed to prove that Officer Sheldon Jeffery Sands hadn’t died on the Day of the Dead.
"Little fish get eaten by big fish, and big fish get eaten by sharks, Eric. So what are you? Have you ever stopped and asked yourself that? What am I? What is Martin? I can’t live the rest of my life blind, wondering about the answer to that question. If I’m not the shark, then f**k it."
Sands stood and walked to the door. He didn’t want Cam to say anything. He just wanted to leave. But before he could walk out he heard Cam behind him. "If you think you’re anything but the shark, than you really are crazy."
Sands allowed himself the ghost of a smile as he walked back to his room. He had no intention of losing.
|
|
|
Post by AgentScarlett on May 9, 2005 14:12:15 GMT -5
Chapter 37 – Revelations
Sands stepped into his room, forcing himself to appear more confident about the current situation than he actually felt. Closing the door behind him, he removed his jacket and tossed it to his left, not caring if it landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.
No matter how many times he told himself that he could best Martin any day of the week, that he could win, the doubt in the back of his brain always presented itself, rattling his already shaky state of mind.
Maybe that was why, at this very moment, he was standing in the middle of his hotel room as if he couldn’t decide which way to go.
Sighing, Sands took his cell phone out of his pocket, intending to call Tom. With the number already set in his speed dial, he hit the call button and waited. Pacing the room as it rang, he breathed a sigh of relief when it was finally picked up.
"Tom, clear your dance card," Sands stated. He hadn’t even given Tom a chance to say hello.
"What odd requests can I fulfill for you this time?" Tom asked wryly. "What do you need? A butler? A Pontiac Firebird? Or do you need a weapon? Perhaps a sniper rifle? Ion Cannon? Hornet Missile Launcher?"
Sands smirked. "As tempting as the missile launcher sounds, it’s not what I had in mind. Maybe later."
"So what can I do you for?"
"Your time."
There was a long pause. Sands could only hear the crackle of the line and Tom’s breathing on the other end.
"That’s the oddest request you’ve made yet," Tom said at last. "You know my time is money, a lot of money, so you’re aware it’ll cost you? I’ll have to clear a couple other projects."
"So bill me," Sands replied dryly. "Sit tight and see if you can hear this."
Sands pressed a button on the side of his cell, turned up the volume on his end, and set the cell down on the bed. Walking to the center of the room, he spoke in his typical drawl.
"I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam, I am." He took another step back. "I do not like them on a boat. I would not, could not, with a goat." He took two more steps back. "I do not like green eggs and ham."
When Sands picked the cell back up, he was greeted by the sound of Tom laughing like a hyena at Sands’ rendition.
"I take it you could hear that?" Sands asked, slightly amused despite his situation.
"You are one weird not a very nice person," Tom said, still chuckling. "Could hear you fine. It got a bit faint when you recited the last line, but I could still make it out."
"Groovy. I need you to set yourself up so that you can record this line, and I need you to do it in a hurry."
"I suppose that’s possible if you give me, say, twenty minutes."
"Done. I’m going to call you when a certain slime-ball arrives. I want you to record the conversation. Once it’s all over I want you to make four duplicates. Send the first copy to the Company’s Director of Operations. Send the second copy to the FBI’s CODIS unit, care of Sheldon Sands, Sr. The third copy I want you to send to my P.O. box in Florida. You know the address. The last copy I want you to hold on to."
"You’re sending a copy to your father? The guy you never speak to? What’s going on?"
"You’ll find out soon enough. Any questions?"
"Yeah. What is going on?" Tom repeated himself, never one to be easily fobbed off. "You know, I recently heard a rumor about you."
Sands tipped his head back and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Is this important? Because I’m a little short on free time and the grapevine is the least of my worries today."
"It’s d**n important if it’s true. You’re sucking me into this without telling me a d**n thing. So, I’ll ask two questions... since you’re in such a hurry. You don’t answer them; I don’t do this next job for you. First question: Have you gone rogue? Second question: Why did you need me to send a driver?"
‘nuts. nuts. nuts.’ Sands sat down heavily, the bed creaking under his weight. The last thing he wanted to do right now was get into all this with Tom. "Why does it matter?"
"Because it does," Tom stated. "I’ve worked with you for six years, and I want to know if what I heard is true."
"Fine. The answers are yes, and because I can’t drive," Sands said flatly.
"Why can’t you drive?" Tom pressed.
"f**k you. You already know why. I’m not going to say it."
"What happened? Your flamboyance finally catch the wrong person’s attention?"
"Are you going to do it or not?" Sands asked, not having the time or energy to talk about the subject further.
The lack of immediate response from the other end was not a good sign, so he was surprised when, after twenty seconds of stony silence, Tom answered. "Yeah. I’ll do it."
Sands fell back against the bed, rubbing one of his pounding temples with his free hand. "Good to know that you still have a spine," he drawled.
"That has nothing to do with it and you know it. But I’m not sticking my neck out for your thingyy ass, you understand? You get caught and I’ve never heard of you or this ‘operation’ of yours."
"How touching. I wouldn’t expect anything else from you. I have to jet. Get ready." Sands hung up and stuck the cell back in his pocket.
Getting off the bed, he pulled the sheets back. Having temporarily stashed Jackson’s body in the bathroom, Sands went to retrieve it. Walking into the bathroom, he grabbed Jackson by the ankles and dragged him to the bed.
"You’ve never been anything but dead weight," Sands grumbled, as he lifted Jackson onto the bed and turned him so that he was facing away from the door.
Sands wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve. All the stress, both mental and physical, was taking its toll on his strength, and the new wound did nothing to help the situation, even if it was mostly superficial.
He picked up the bloody pillow from the floor and shoved it under the bed, hoping it was out of sight. After pulling the sheets over Jackson, he took a step back. He figured that in the dark, Jackson’s body might fool Martin from the entryway, at least long enough to give him an edge.
Lighting a cigarette, Sands took a long draw before grabbing a gun and a clip out of his bag. Loading the clip into the gun, he tucked the weapon into his pants. Searching the floor for a minute, he found the jacket he’d tossed and slipped it back on, hiding the gun from view.
After making sure all the light switches were switched off, he dug around in his suitcase. Finding his small travel-size cologne, he went over to the foot of the bed. Spraying a large dose of the cologne, he tucked the bottle in the front pocket of his jacket and made his way over to the nightstand.
Locating the bedside lamp, he ran his hand along the bottom of it until he found the power cord. He followed the power cord down to the wall and, not finding a plug and outlet, but a cord that went straight into the wall, he took out his pocketknife, made a kink in the cord and cut it quickly.
After doing the same with the lamp on the opposite side of the bed, he moved on to the light switch by the door.
Taking out his wallet, he sifted through his spare change until he found a dime. Sticking the edge of the dime into the flat screw head, he proceeded to unscrew the cover from the wall. The dime’s edge was hardly ideal, and made the task a bit slower than normal, but he got the job done nonetheless.
|
|