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Shadow Arts / Log 2
Posted By: monitor101<wasup1989@hotmail.com>
Date: 13 October 2006, 2:20 am
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A.D. 2551, 3 November, 0600 hours / UNSC building, NYC, Earth
"Those sons a bitches!" General William Lenox growled, holding the document with white knuckles.
He threw off his reading glasses and burst out of his office. Three minutes later he stormed into General Howard Treftz' office to see the chairman of the Security Council sitting behind his massive oak desk, staring at a file of papers with Lieutenant General Sarah Ackley standing behind him. They both looked up.
"Bill, how can I help you?" Treftz smiled and said in a scholarly, British accent.
"What the hell is this?!" Lenox demanded, shaking the papers in his hand.
The smile on Treftz face vanished. He leaned back into his large leather chair that was taller than he was, and interlocked his fingers. A serious look overcame his old, tired face. "Did you read it already?"
"Yes I read it and there is no way I am going to agree to this!" Lenox hissed.
The older general rubbed his eyes and looked at Ackley. She shrugged and he nodded. Lenox watched with astonishment.
"You've been planning this for how long behind my back?"
Treftz stood up, his dress uniform looking too big over his slim, five foot nine inch frame. It hung from his shoulders with a plethora of metals and campaign ribbons that confirmed his long service to the UNSC. He ran a hand over his slicked back, silver hair, and took a deep breath. He walked past Lenox and over to a private bar, an arm pointed behind him to a sitting area comprised of two leather couches and two leather chairs that were arranged in a square with a coffee table in the middle.
"Take a seat and we'll discuss this," Treftz said while pouring a drink.
Lenox knew better than to disobey his senior officer and remain standing. He quickly sat in one of the couches. Ackley walked over and sat in one of the chairs.
"Sarah, can you stand some Glen Livet?" Treftz asked, glancing over his shoulder. "Or would you like a nice cabernet?"
"Give me the scotch," Ackley replied briskly.
Treftz smiled, finished pouring three glasses of diverse liquor, picked them up, and took a seat in the couch across from Lenox. He set the glasses down and slid two of them over to Lenox and Ackley.
"For you Bill, your favorite, a little Ezra Brooks Kentucky straight bourbon. And for Sarah and I, the Glen Livet," he said and sipped his drink.
Lenox was growing impatient. "Now, answer my question!"
"Very well, Bill. We want to bring him back," Treftz said.
"Why? Why Crist, what makes him so special? We have a dozen good investigators and half as many assassins who are all more than qualified for the job," Lenox exclaimed.
"Yes, but how far has corruption spread, Bill? We do not know who is clean and who isn't. Chantillis's death has shaken the UNSC to its core. We know there was a plot to kill him, the only question is who. No one can root out the conspirators better than Crist," Treftz said firmly.
Lenox's face grew dark. "The only thing Richard Crist is good for is rotting on that godforsaken planet!"
"That was seven years ago," Ackley interjected.
"I don't care if it was a hundred years ago, that doesn't change anything. This son of a bitch will never step foot on a Human occupied planet as long as I am in power," Lenox spat. He threw the crumpled paper onto the table.
Treftz eyes narrowed, a rare look of indignation formed on his face. Both Lenox and Ackley fell silent.
"Your missing the point. Now put your grudges aside for a moment. Quentin Chantillis was a personal friend of mine. This is my final year as chairman. I was going retire knowing that the UNSC would be in good hands. Now I know I am going to leave at the worst possible time," he stared at Lenox with staid eyes; the friendly twinkle that normally accompanied them was gone. "Crist is coming back because he is the only person I trust right now. He will come back and there is nothing you can do about it."
A.D. 2551, 3 November, 2200 hours / LAX spaceport
Richard Crist sat in the final departure lounge of the Bradley Terminal, awaiting his flight to New York. He had drained two vodka martinis earlier and he felt their effects coming in full swing. He leaned back into the stiff, oversized leather chair and pondered his present circumstances.
Seven years out of a job and he was living off the last of his trust fund his grandparents had left him. The large sum of money was disappearing very fast. To compensate a credit card debt that was beyond recovering, he had to sell his eight thousand square foot mansion, his quarter million-dollar Ferrari, and lose his supermodel girlfriend who was popping up on the nets and public vids across the colonies, someone he was planning on marrying. She was the one great loss that left him with a void in his heart that no amount of alcohol could fill. He had been so close to true love only to have it walk out on him. His life in fast lane had abruptly been pulled over.
Before Crist had been a spy, a damn good one too. After he graduated from OCS, he was bumped into the Office of Naval Intelligence, something he was very much against. The agency was shrouded in mystery and a billion rumors had surfaced during OCS as to what really went on behind the curtain. No candidate wanted that particular duty station, especially Crist. To make matters worse, he had been put in Section Three, the notorious branch headed by the even more notorious Colonel James Ackerson. Once there, Crist quickly adjusted to the life as a spook. He learned the tradecraft of a spy and quickly became the top assassin of ONI. Amidst a war with the Covenant, Human splinter factions sprouted throughout the colonies. It was Crist's job to quell these uprisings, and he did his job well.
Seven years ago, he had assassinated the leader of a small rebellion on the planet Virgo III. The leader was a young, trendy student named William; he was an outspoken challenger of the UNSC and stirred up rebellion within the ranks of Virgo III's youth. Crist held no scruple in killing him, it was business as usual. However, as fate would have it, young William was the son of General William Lenox Sr., a member of UNSC High Command. Upon hearing of his son's death, the General ordered Crist to be executed. Others in HIGHCOM slowly persuaded Lenox to consider a less severe punishment, claiming that Crist had done it on orders with no knowledge of William's kinship to General Lenox. An infuriated General Lenox reluctantly agreed to a sentence that did not seem as dreadful as the death penalty...but for Crist death was the better alternative.
They stripped the assassin of his position and shipped him to a remote monitoring station on Sagittarius II, a frozen and abandoned rock that's yearly temperature never reached higher than twenty degrees Fahrenheit. For the last seven years he had sat in the ice cube, his only link to the outside world were news reports that were weeks old by the time they reached him.
Seven years…he contemplated that time in his life. Seven years of his life wasted, and for what, an assassination of an enemy of the state who undoubtedly deserved what he got. In the last seven years, he had thought a lot, and this was what he thought about most, the life of one for the lifetime of another.
"Now boarding, seats A through F for flight 221 nonstop to New York, thank you," a kindly female voice said over the intercom.
Crist gave his ticket a second look and confirmed he was had an A seat. He dragged himself out of the chair and shuffled onboard. With tired arms, he stuffed his only suitcase into a crowded overhead compartment and took his seat, which was thankfully by the window. Bliss overcame him as he reclined in the comfortable chair. He felt himself on the verge of an enjoyable sleep but a thought crawled into his mind, interrupting a rare moment of repose.
Crist dreaded going to New York. He was going back to an old life, one he had gotten over years ago. General Lenox was in New York. This man still held a grudge against Crist. There was no reconciliation with Lenox. The murder of his son would never be forgotten or forgiven. Crist had wondered why they wanted him out of exile. Whatever it was, it must be serious, especially if Lenox agreed to bring Crist back.
The small plane quickly filled with passengers. The flight attendants went through their procedure safety announcements, and then took their seats as the plane taxied onto the runway. After a shaky takeoff, the plane began to climb to its cruising altitude.
Crist was fortunate to have a window seat and he shifted his gaze to it. The ascent offered an amusing view of the Los Angles sprawl, a sea of city lights that glittered like fire flies and stretched onward into the horizon. Jagged peaks of downtown LA skyscrapers slowly shifted into view then moved off.
Crist didn't admire the sight of a large populous. Seven years of uncomfortable solitude had estranged him from the rest of humanity. To see a self absorbed, urban society dominated by techno industrialization was a sight for eyes that looked upon it with dissent. Crist had been alone for all these years, yet this place and these people had been alone forever, even if they lived next to one another. Nobody knew anybody. Behind those lights, was a group of people who lived a self-serving existence, so caught up in their own lives that they had not a care in the world for the people they shared their little corner of the universe with. He had longed to be a part of society again, but now that he was, he regretted returning.
He had been a part of the LA upper-class scene. The cars, the yachts, the clubs, the women, these had all come in excess for him. He had lived a materialistically oriented life that was defined by external sources. All this time he had taken lives yet not lived his own.
The flight attendants went through the cabin, ordering people's drinks. Crist ordered a gin and tonic. It came five minutes later and was gone five seconds later. With alcohol in him, Crist melted into the chair, pushed aside his sociopathic thoughts, and nodded off.
Two hours later the plane jostled him awake as it landed at JFK. The plane came to its gate and passengers slowly filed out. When it was his turn, Crist quickly grabbed his bag and unhurriedly left the airplane.
When he came to the terminal, he saw two broad shouldered men in dark business suits, standing behind the sea of seats. A smile crossed his face. Treftz had hired mercenaries to escort him to the UNSC building, this meant that his arrival was extremely confidential, and few people knew he was here. He walked over to them.
"Mr. Richard Crist, please come with us, sir," the taller one said as he stopped in front of them.
Crist sized them up and wondered if he could take them. Being an assassin, he had to be in good shape, and he had not lost it in the seven years he was in exile. One was taller than Crist by a full head, and towered over the other who was short, maybe five ten, with muscles that barely fit underneath the suit.
"So, let me guess…Sigma Security maybe?" Crist said suppressing a smile. Sigma Security was Treftz favorite private sector security company. When Crist was in the game the old general wad constantly hiring out jobs to Sigma mercenaries, and it looked like things had not changed.
The taller one looked down at his partner perplexingly; the short one shrugged and gave Crist a dark look.
"Let's go," the short one said in a thick Scottish accent.
They walked through the maze of hallways that comprised JFK. They crossed a sky bridge and into a large parking garage. They entered a four-door sedan and barreled out of the airport and into New York.
Ten minutes later, they drove up to the UNSC building. Crist was about to get out but they continued past the large building.
"Where the hell are we going?" Crist demanded, looking at the taller one who drove through the rearview mirror.
The man smiled and took a left. They circled around and parked in an almost empty back lot in the shadow of the looming structure. It finally clicked; they didn't want him to be seen by anyone.
The two led him through a creaky door and into a dark corridor that led to a service elevator. They went up to the tenth floor and entered a new hallway. This one was carpeted and decorated with mahogany walls. The two bodyguards stopped in front of a pair of double doors labeled, General Howard Treftz.
Crist hesitated for a moment; he did not want to enter this room. In it was the past, a place he didn't want to visit. General Lenox was on the other side, a man who truly hated Crist with every fiber of his being. Crist took a deep breath and opened the door.
General Treftz' enormous office had not changed much in seven years. It was still dimly lit and had the same setup, his monstrous desk loomed in the back and the sitting area took up the middle, the old sticks of furniture replaced with inviting leather pieces. In addition, it was very clean; Treftz had always kept his things orderly.
Crist took a few steps in and closed the door behind him. Relaxation flooded him when he saw that it was only General Treftz sitting behind his desk, no Section Three spooks, and no Lenox.
A wide smile broke out on the old general's face. "How are you, Richard?"
Crist almost didn't recognize Treftz. His hair was thinner and grayer. Wrinkles had invaded his tired face. He was skinnier and seemed slower. The general had aged, but Crist was pleased to see a familiar, inviting twinkle in the general's eyes. He had not changed one bit.
"Fine, how are you, general?" Crist responded.
"I've been better," Treftz replied with a dismal tone.
"Why's that?" Crist asked.
"We'll get to that later. In the mean time, please sit down," Treftz motioned for Crist to sit in one of couches.
Crist almost jumped into the couch. The routine was still the same; Treftz walked over, poured them two drinks, and joined Crist at the sitting area. Crist exhausted his Chivas Regal whiskey and got comfortable.
"How have you been?" Treftz asked.
"Seven years stuck in the goddamn South Pole, and a five week long vacation in a cryotube, I'm just peachy. Now why don't you tell me what the fuck this is all about, general?" Crist said harshly.
Treftz sipped his drink. "Are you ready to resume your old duties?"
"Kill again? I might shoot someone's relative by accident and get thrown halfway across the galaxy into some remote outpost," Crist said, letting every word drip from his tongue with bitter sarcasm.
"Damn it, can you forget about your past for one second. This is serious!" Treftz blurted. "Quentin Chantillis is dead and we know there is a conspiracy behind it."
"I haven't been keeping up with current events lately, but the murder of Chantillis was big enough to reach even my ears," Crist said. "What does that have to do with me?"
Treftz leaned forward as if someone was going to hear him. "As I said, there was a conspiracy behind it."
"Who?"
"We don't know how far up this goes," Treftz said almost at a whisper. "Even the Security Council could be compromised."
"Is that why you don't want anyone to know I'm here?" Crist asked.
"Yes, I want you to keep a very low profile. That means no gambling, no seducing delegates' wives, and no parties. No one at Section Three or ONI for that matter can know you're here. As far as they are concerned, Richard Crist is still wasting away on a frigid planet in the Sagittarius system," Treftz said.
Crist smiled amusingly. "What do I get in return?"
"Your freedom, but, let me remind you, after this you will have more enemies who will hold bigger grudges than General Lenox," Treftz said.
"I want more than my freedom! I want to get paid a quarter million for every person I whack," Crist said sternly.
Treftz was in the middle of a drink and nearly choked. "A quarter million! Are you mad!"
"My offer is going once…twice…" Crist trailed off, letting three hang in the air.
Treftz slammed his glass on the table. "Fine, I'll make it one hundred a piece. Plus, another fifty when your through. Does that satisfy you?" the general hissed.
"Very good. To start off, I'll need a list and descriptions of all the people who knew Chantillis or had him on their hit lists."
"I have a full report on file for you. You can download it at the hotel."
"The hotel?" Crist asked with raised eyebrows.
Treftz grinned. "Yes, we picked a nice room for you at the Hotel Splendide."
"Very nice," Crist smiled at the thought of a comfortable bed, room service, champagne, and a hot shower.
"We have a prime suspect as well," Treftz said. He got up, walked over to his desk, and pulled out a file.
"Who is he?" Crist asked intently.
"She is Chantillis's former lover. A femme fatale type," Treftz said walking back over and handing Crist the file.
He took it and flipped it open. His eyes widened at a picture of a remarkably beautiful woman. The photo was of her on a yacht, a smile spread across her face laughing at someone's joke.
"Her name is Alice Levigne, a member of the secretary general's staff," Treftz sat down and took notice of Crist's enthrallment in the picture. "She has been conducting in secret activities of the most illegal nature under the last three secretary general's," the old man's tone turned serious. "I hope you still have your charm."
Crist finally managed to peel his eyes off the photo and look at Treftz. "That's one thing I've been saving."
To Be Continued…
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