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The next chapter of Cassandra. Adult PG14
Cassandra Chapter 4
The tunnel was obviously man made, and was so small that the three men had to stoop to transverse the thousand feet to another metal door. The Geek crew, that had met them outside, tapped an elaborate knock, and the door swung open. They were lead to a metal landing overlooking a large dimly lit, high ceiling-ed chamber, full of servers, and green lit computer screens, casting an unearthly light on the pallid faces of hundreds of Geeks. It was Benning who spoke first.
"Very impressive - what happened to my boy?"
"He was distraught about his brother and we told him about the other way into the Keep"
Samson made a grunting noise that made the Geek jump backwards in fear.
"Sorry…Mr. Samson! He was inconsolable. He ranted and raved, to the point, that we feared he would hurt one of us. The very idea of being pierced by one of his arrows is horrifying. So… we told him." The Geek shyly backed down the stairs away from Samson.
"Is that the way 'In' you were talking about?" Benning turned to Samson.
"Yes …but he couldn't have made it - he would have been overwhelmed."
Samson followed the Geek down the stairs.
Benning leaned over and whispered, "Were you thinking of killing that egghead for telling my son how to get into the Keep? Jesus! Samson, he has a right to revenge."
"You're boy is head-hard stupid and now …if he is alive, I have to save him. Or, I can kill one or two of these pallid mushroom-heads, as a lesson, for their stupidity, then kill you for siring idiot children, and thereby eliminating a defective gene pool.” He turned and gave Benning a chilling smile. “I'll think on it overnight. As for now - I need a meal and some rest."
Benning stared after him, thinking to himself that it had been a long life, with a fair amount of fun in it, and that being dead didn't sound all that bad.
"Being killed by a friend was better than being bettered by an enemy…" He muttered to himself, and having psychologically coming to grips with his situation, he followed down the metal stairs.
This Geek Lair was designed as an outpost, to snoop on Wild One development, and watch for Elite agents. It was a dangerous assignment for Geeks, because it meant traveling above ground, and being exposed. They were, after all, easy to spot. They were small, frail, pale, and ill equipped to defend themselves, if it wasn't for a liking of the night, elaborate weapons and explosives, they would be nothing but Keep meat. If it wasn't for the fact that the Elite found it so easy to kidnap and enslave so many of their own, they would not take the risk. The pale ones were slow to anger, but vicious in their retribution.
Something was disturbing Samson, above his asserted anger with the Geek's decision to tell Raul the way into the Keep. Benning watched Samson\'s head constantly swivel, looking at every door, and every Geek, within sight. And Samson was walking in that very determined way that was akin to a scorpion stance. Benning stood still, hand on his gun, as Samson stopped suddenly.
"Where is 10101?" He screamed while gripping the nearest Geek within arms reach, and holding him up in the air, by the neck.
"What is your designation?" Samson said it without looking at his captive. He was scanning the room Looking for 10101.
"11111000…Sir!" The response was barely audible, due to the inconvenient hand about his throat.
"10101 better be here in front of me in thirty seconds, or I will strangle this very important person."
That did the trick. A pinkish overly thin fellow, with various small colorful flashing electric devices attached to his bald pate, walked up to Samson with an arrogant regal bearing.
"Samson …How good to see you. We were not expecting you." A slight lisp added to the overall creepy affect. "We assumed you were about the Contract we awarded you and not fussing in affairs that matter not to you, thus delaying the proper outcome of the a fore mentioned Contract."
Benning flinched, bloodshed was sure to ensue. Instead Samson took his other hand, and very roughly pulled back the upper lip of the person he was holding. Benning didn't like the grayish color of the fellow, but what he saw made him shiver in horror.
"Explain this, bat dung…make it good, because I\'m in a very bloodthirsty mood."
The Leader stepped back slightly and giggled. Benning smiled, laughing took a lot of guts, and he wondered if the pale son-o-bitch thought that distance would somehow save him.
"A mere aberration due to our living as we do." The Leader's voice was a little unsteady.
Samson dropped the fellow he was holding, hard, and started checking the mouths of several of the other Geeks sitting at terminals, leaving the unfortunates flustered and muttering. Satisfied, and no less angry, he started walking toward a set of double doors. Benning thought that they were the entrances to the Leaders office or living quarters. He followed quickly, after what he saw in the Geek's mouths he now knew why his son had left.
***
Samuel Adams sat in the largest chair at a table full of peopled chairs - in an office - in a building - on the fifty-second floor - of a Company - in Moscow - that was responsible for genetic research - that had made-found Cassandra and then lost her. It was the CEO, Samuel Adams, who had his ass on the line for the screw up. Mars was the meaning for all of it, even if the truth was that they probably couldn’t get there, pessimism would not stop the machine.
"I have just talked to an informant, who tells me that Samson Reems has managed to kill two of our best Agents, and now is off the scope. We sent him to capture - and we now know the Geeks sent him to kill – the very special girl, and that if any one can capture, or kill her, he can. Mr. Reems is a complicated man, and it is always interesting to see him work. Here is the thing – Cassandra must be captured alive. Now the question I have for the lot of you is - what are we going to do now?"
Samuel was fat, spoiled, and not accustomed to doing anything for the huge salary he collected. This entire Cassandra business had made him uncomfortable, and he had ingested, probably, too many calmatives, and assuredly drank too much Vodka, at lunch, to be very effective in this meeting. His only hope was that by his being as calm as he seemed to be, his many vice-presidents would perceive his questions as threatening to them.
It was his Number Three who spoke.
"He has joined up with an older man named Benning, still a very dangerous man in his own right. We don't know where they are. The Geeks are blocking our use of satellite surveillance. Our best bet would be to hire a squad of S-Opts and…"
"Are you suggesting we send a kill-squad to erase Samson and capture Cassandra? Didn't we just do that?\"
Samuel could barely keep his stern face from breaking out in hysterics. He knew that every man and women at this table knew that Samson was a man extremely hard to kill. Lord knows…the Company had tried enough times. “The little bastard uses us to keep him sharp…we, in fact, continue to train him at our expense. As for Cassandra, the security guards that she daintily dispatched by breaking their too-thick necks, were all ex-S-Opts.” Cassandra was no less dangerous, or committed to her own hidden agenda, than Samson himself - and Adams did not know either of their personal agendas, that was truly disturbing. If you don't have leverage you don't have control. "Well?" Samuel began to enjoy this.
"The two, Samson eliminated, were low level operatives – expendable. We could send professionals to scout out Samson's movements, until he found Cassandra. Then if possible, liquidate him and nab her - when it was do-able. My analysis is that she is now a liability, and it isn’t cost effective to keep her alive. We web-bug our people and keep in constant contact with them. My staff has compiled a cost analysis of the operation."
Number Three passed down the report. Samuel put on his glasses, and took the time and read the report. He stopped, took off his glasses and glared at the man.
"Am I then to surmise that your approach, Number Three, is to send out a squad with an undefined initial agenda? You believe that by observing at a distance, over a unspecified period of time, funding the squad, and your staff…and a large techno-resource output, we will find a weakness in both subjects? Do you then think that the weakness will reveal an opportunity to dispatch them both …thus putting to rest this embarrassing chapter in our Company’s otherwise illustrious history? Are you also aware, young sir, that we have put a fortune into the creation of this creature, and she has abilities known, and unknown, to us - and we would like to exploit these same abilities? Maybe you think we can get that exploitable commodity from her dead body…?"
Everyone in the room shifted in their upholstered seats wincing at the seeming, and dangerous, sarcasm. Number Three never moved his body or face.
"…Excellent Number Three, do it! Now …all of you out of the room."
There could be no sighs of relief, which would be too dangerous. The twenty executives cleared the room in less than a minute, without a sound. Number Three had saved them, but they all knew that he was going to have to perform what he proposed, and it was a foolish move to take on this particular project. No one wished Number Three well, he wasn't liked, he was too handsome, and too thin, but aside from that - at this level liking anyone was a liability.
Samuel walked over to the window and frowned. It was a clear night in Moscow, and the view from his window was spectacular. The Company’s steel and glass high rise was on the edge of the four hundred square mile Financial District, so he had a grand view of the ever-expanding suburbs. He had seen renderings, and a photograph, of the area around Old Los Angeles and this, before him, was that same layout. He looked out on the lighted streets, green flowering gardens now void of color in the night, and stucco houses, one like the other, built with honest pride. Old Moscow was flattened, from the rigor of the Change, and was buried under snow most of the year, but the weather had changed and now it was a paradise created by the dreams of the Elites.
Samuel was a member of one of the Old Families; as such he had no need to worry about losing his job or his enormous salary, both of which he did not really earn - it was his birthright. His home was a huge exquisitely furnished Master Suite on the top floor of this same building, with a 360 view, that allowed him spectacular view of every experimental space launch. He was on top of the world, a thinking process and a context that has been instilled in those who rule for as long as history. But he was held responsible for any failure and for the two agents dying. Those same two agents not killing Samson was an expected failure and part of a larger scheme. Benning was an interesting and deep man, the loss of his son should have made him malleable, and instead he used the situation to find and, if possible enroll, Samson. All in all a risky move, Adams found himself liking the man very much, He walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink, Vodka on the rocks, a shallow homage to the local liquid culture. He swirled the ice with his fat finger and absently swilled it. He sat down behind his huge Oak desk and chuckled, which had the effect of having his belly bounce, a sensation that gave him pleasure. 'If the rest of this uncivilized world would just fall in line they wouldn't have to be skinny or dirty' he thought to himself as he patted his great pot. His fat and his expensive suits were worn with well-earned pride. Like the masterful way he managed his senior staff, they were paid exceedingly well and all knew the risk, if they did their jobs they made more money; if they didn't do their jobs - there were consequences. It was well after eight at night and they well knew that he, Samuel, was going to execute at least one of them, maybe even two, before the rest could go home to their families. Execution was a remarkably efficient motivational tool that the Old World, with its twisted ethics and false morality, did not take to full advantage. Had their predecessors taken a proper stance there certainly would have been greater profits. The problem was that execution was a loss of assets, no matter how exciting it was to do the dirty work, it was necessary and a CEO's duty. He buzzed in Number Three who came in looking quite pleased with himself. Samuel did like the boy; he was vicious and talented, traits he himself had, and admired in others. He also was related to one of the Old Families, Samuel's Family, in fact, through a distant cousin. The boy had 'Wild One' blood in him, and Samuel was interested how far he could go in the Company, and that was why he had 'Made' him. The boy was, however, entirely to thin and that had to be changed before he could be seen at any family function. His svelte-ness was rude and would reflect badly on Samuel.
"Sit down my boy…" Samuel lifted the phone to his ear."Yes, please send us up two dinners…steaks-rare…potatoes with goat cheese…mixed salad…vinaigrette…chocolate ice cream on cake…coffee- sweet cream and sweet- red wine - pick a good one." He sat down the phone." I hope you aren't in a hurry, my boy, I want you to personally oversee the killing of Samson and capture that monster girl that the Science boys cooked up in their vats. You do that, my boy, for me. You will make the control center mobile and you will keep me informed."
"Yes sir!"
“Let me go clean up before dinner. You have a drink and relax.”
The man did not even flinch at the cavalier change in agenda. Samuel knew that the young fellow knew that this was a private matter, and he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Samuel left to the washroom. He came back in wearing a new suit, and was pleased to see the meal was being served and that Jene was comfortably sitting with a tall drink in his hand.
"I would like you, as a way to prove your worth, pick three of your peers and have them come in." Samuel turned the console on his desk toward Number Three.
Jene Stems knew his time had come. He could imagine the others, waiting in their offices, sweating and praying for their deliverance. It was a matter of playing the odds, Adams wasn't going to kill three people, which was a waste of assets, and would require a long and expensive period of training. In spite of that, Adams was lazy, an aggressive manager, and there was always someone waiting to climb into a VP's chair. For the most part it was a great job, as long as things went well. Jene was a trained S-Opts Specialist with an impeccable record. He knew his rise and being 'Made' was Samuel's doing and he would soon have the fat-bastards ear, but not yet. Jene was hard trained and mean and he wasn't quite ready to soften up sitting behind a desk. He had a personal agenda and finding Samson was part of a bigger vision. Samuel Adams did exactly as he was manipulated to do, and likewise Jene, too, was masterfully manipulated. It was a perfect dance and a wonderful use of leverage. Adams was so pleased with Jene that he was almost at the point of giggling. He would have to kill one of the VPs because it was a matter of face and Family honor. It would also demonstrate to his new protégé that real use of power. The other two would be assigned to Jene to go after Samson and Cassandra. He handed the phone mike to Jene.
"James Smith, Marion Stow, and John Clure…would you please report to Mr. Adam’s office.”
Adams took the mouthpiece and added. “The rest of you go on home see you Moonday morning for a breakfast meeting…Five a.m."
Jene smiled as Adams turned the console, making a flourished gesture of turning off the intercom. “Our meal will stay warm. Let’s get this business done first. Interesting choices…" Samuel liked this young man very much indeed. These three were just precisely whom he himself would have chosen. The boy already had gleaned his plan. And had accepted the risk.
The three VPs sheepishly walked into the room and stood before Samuel's desk. Samuel stared at them saying nothing.
James Smith was tall and appeared big, his width was blubber over real muscle, hidden in a well-tailored suit. He had a good mind, knew his way around a computer, and he knew the appropriate up-link equipment. Quick of mind, was James, bulk strong, and a first rate analyst. He was a firearm enthusiast and amateur crack shot. He was unmarried and the first, usually, to volunteer a solution to any problem. If it came to it, the exercise of a road trip would probably do him well.
John Clure was a weasel, a liar, a fool and a dangerous man to whoever took him as partner, or confidant. He was in fact a spy for another Old Family. It was a custom to have one such in each of the Companies, to keep watch on the doings of the other Families. Secrets were a premium, as they had been before the Change. Samuel Adams hated the little bastard and of coarse knew his true allegiance, but could not himself reveal that he knew, or raise his hand against him. Adams wondered if Jene knew.
Marion Stow was an enigma. She was of medium build, medium height, medium intelligence, and of medium, but not unpleasant appearance. And she was a survivor. When all seemed lost and hope was gone this humble, quiet, and demure soul would say, and do, just exactly the thing that needed to be done, to the admiration and astonishment of all. It was she who had given Jene the insights he needed to create the quest they were about to undertake. She was, however, surprised that she would be a part of it. Her role had always been, as she perceived it, savior, not participant.
James Smith knew somehow that he wouldn't die, at least not today or in this office. Unless Jene had a better man to bring up to replace him, which his sources claimed that there was no such person, but how can you really be sure these days, after all wasn't Jene a 'Made' man? You can never trust a thin person. He also wasn't deluding himself, he was not made for fieldwork, and he knew that where he was going would probably kill him anyway. All in all, whatever was about to happen made for a bleak future, and probably little hope for advancement.
Marion knew she was done. She had been meek too long and now she hated herself for not being more demonstrative. She had played her hand as best she could and now it was time to fold. Helping Jene could have been a good move, if she had secretly let Mr. Adams know what he was doing. Her downfall was that she found Jene wonderfully sexy. She never had a boy friend and only five paid lovers in her whole life. When she took the VP chair, Mr. Adams had asked her 'Why not marriage and why not more lovers?' It seems he found her supposed purity disturbing, in that it did not allow the Company sufficient leverage against her. He had told her he would give her the position in spite of his reservations, but he would probably have to kill her before the year was out. That was ten years ago. Ten years riding high was pretty good; still it would have been nice if she could have leveraged Jene to have sex with her. She blushed as she thought of his slim lean body. She admonished herself, her perversion was indeed her downfall. Mr. Adams must have found out about her private picture file of old fashioned, fatless, muscle men, and now he was going to expose her. Well, it was a great ride.
John T. Damon Clure smiled at the obvious ploy by Samuel Adams. Trying to frighten him into revealing his true mission was useless. He was made of sterner stuff. In spite of his allegiances, he was a valuable member of this company's management body. His contribution to the profitability of this Company was invaluable. So even if Samuel knew he was a spy, it wouldn't matter as long as profits were up, and he committed no overt sabotage.
'So,'John thought,' Adams decided that he, John T. Damon Clure, should go with this new Upstart, to lend his wisdom, and to keep peace in the Families? Very wise, by letting all the other Families know what progress is being made he solidified his presence in the community. Shrewd move, Samuel! This will go along way to recover from your screw-up. You came very close to being the only Family member to ever be executed for incompetence.' He looked down at the skinny Jene with no small contempt. John was after all a member of the powerful Indale Family, bred to this secret work.
John spoke first.
"May I say Mr. Adams, this is a very wise move. We will all miss Marion very much, but we all know it was she that actually choose the two men that failed so miserably, and it is right that Mr. Smith, and myself, go with young Jene and supervise this assignment to it's successful conclusion. I do pray that since Mr. Smith and I are properly fed that we be allowed a certain amount of time to work out to toughen…"
Jene moved fast, like a cat, and had cut off the arrogant moron's words mid-sentence. He slashed up and down, cutting Clure's throat and groin arteries, with two fighting knifes, in both his right and left hands. Blood splashed everywhere as the body fell to the floor, in seconds the fountain had ebbed. Marion, James and Samuel were awash in crimson. Jene was spotless, and had taken a chair by the window, calmly looking out over the city.
Adams was clearly unnerved by the lethal demonstration. His versions of business executions were done in a more civilized manner. A gun firing a dart, with a syringe, delivered a lethal, but kind, dose of a morphine compound. The variety, in the purge, was where he chooses to aim the dart. This dramatic, and lurid, slaughter was a message to each and every person in the room. Secretly Samuel loved it. If he survived the next hour, all would go well. Jene had killed a real ass, but an ass that was a 'Made' Family member. Indeed, a great service to Samuel, because Clure could be made out to be rogue, no one liked the crud anyway. The Indale family would see him as a failure, for being compromised, and replace him with a new spy, a more competent manager, guaranteeing more profits for the company. If the boy gets Samson, he comes back a hero, all is forgiven, and he takes his place as Samuel's right hand man. If the boy fails, he is a brutal butcher, killed justly by Samson's hand, and still all is well. The two frozen, blood- drenched zombies just got a taste of their new boss's management style, lest they thought it was to be their show, because of their seniority. They of course will, no doubt, die on the road, and their new boss just might get Samson and Cassandra in the deal.
"Well, that was an impressive, if not overly dramatic, purging." Adams whispered. "I certainly agree with your choice of cohorts and would expect you to be on your way to the Wild Lands as quickly as possible. That is if you are through with us and this meeting?"
There was a knock on the door and a porter stepped into the room looked around and nodded to Samuel.
"Mr. Adams, I will inform housekeeping of the new purging policies."
He turned and left shutting the doors behind him.
ken lehnig(c) 2009
www.klstoryteller.com
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Why is doing what you love the hardest thing to do? Is it because failing what you thought defined you would be too devastating a thing from which to recover? If so, we stay where mere accident has left us.
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Cassandra 9
