The Millennium Project
"New Millennium, Same Game..."
"New Millennium, Same Game..."
Unknown Location
December 25, 1999
The sound of running feet on the wet cobblestone streets echoed throughout the night. They were steadily paced even though they were quick. Evenly spaced intervals allowed the runner full control through the turns and maximum speed on straight pathways. This was the result of careful training and experience.
The footsteps of the pursuers, however, where uneven, undisciplined; as such, they clambered noisily in pursuit of their target who was widening the gap with each passing step. However, they did have one advantage, their weapons. They needed not to be close to their prey to disable it, which is what they intended to do.
The man out in front of the hunters knew all too well the imminent threat that was posed against him, yet he continued his escape with a calm determination. He took note of any landmarks he could see in the darkness in order to navigate his way through the ancient city. He made sure that each turn he took was deliberate, trying to avoid any contact with anyone, for he did not want to put any innocent lives in danger. He reached into his holster and pulled out his pistol; even though he was a safe distance from his would-be captors, he gripped the weapon to ensure his protection.
The man came to a stop in front of a row house and jostled in his pockets for the key to the door. Once he had the key, he inserted into the lock, opened the door and dashed inside, closing the door behind him. He placed his gun back into his holster and stepped up to the top floor on the spiral staircase.
He then headed down the hallway of the top floor and came to the last door on the right. It was ajar. He removed his gun from the holster keeping a tight grip on it as he pushed slightly on the door; it creaked open. Even in the darkness he could see the dead bodies of his team sprawled across the floor. He recognized the sound of an automatic rifle being aimed at the back of his head.
"You might want to surrender now," the owner of the rifle growled.
"You massacred my team, you've chased me throughout the city, do you honestly expect me to let you arrest me?"
Before there was a response, their was a shot.
The shot activated an program within the simulation, with a flashing red light filling Gram Conner's eyes with the words FAILED echoing into his ears, "I shot first, how did I die?" he asked in frustration as he flung the simulation glasses off of his face and onto the floor.
"A sniper shot from the rooftop of the adjacent building just as you shot your attacker, Agent Conner, and may I remind you that this technology is fragile and incredibly expensive," training specialist Duke Samson responded as he gathered the now shattered equipment, "The Agency may have funds but we can't afford you destroying everything you use!"
"The Cubans would never use that strategy, they are purely the hit-and-run type," Conner protested, completely ignoring his instructor's complaints.
"Need I remind you that the Western Cubans aren't our enemies anymore, but our rulers?" said Samson as he programmed the simulation for a new pair of glasses.
"If that's true, then why did President McCurter and Congress approve this machine of yours behind their backs?" Conner asked as he received the glasses from one of Samson's staff.
Samson ignored Conner, "The government's goal for the Service is to prevent any further conflicts that this nation can't afford."
Conner snorted, "Duke, Klentians are a stubborn and proud people, of course we'll go to war again."
"In that case the Service's goal is to obtain as much Intel as possible on our friends and rivals and use it to our advantage," Samson replied as he began re-initializing the simulation.
"Hence the Millennium Project?" Conner blurted out.
All the technicians and engineers froze and fell silent as Samson slowly raised his head from the machine, "Give us the room," he ordered, his voice just above a whisper.
Conner raised his brow as the room emptied, "Was it something I said?"
"How the hell do you know about Millennium?" Samson demanded, "It's the Service's most top secret project, no agent knows... er... should know about it!"
"Oh, one day I just popped into the Director's office and noticed an odd file on top of his desk, so I though I'd take a look in case my services were needed. After all, that is what all this is for, right?" Conner said with a confident smirk on his face.
Samson let out a long sigh of exasperation and shook his head, "Gram, Gram, Gram, when will you learn that there are rules in life?"
"Probably the same time I recognize the rule of the Cubans," Conner chortled.
Samson stared at Conner for a moment and then called his staff back in, "Let's try this again shall we?"
Conner put on the glasses, "Definitely."
Samson entered the programming to start the simulation, and the sound of running feet on the wet cobblestone streets echoed throughout the night.
Williamsburg, D.K.
Eastern Intelligence Agency Headquarters
December 25, 1999
Agent Gram Conner walked down a carpeted hallway. On one side were wall-sized windows, showing the snow flurry that was covering city. On the other was a light grey wall that was lined with the names of the fallen men and women who gave their lives for the Klentian Republic, or the Federal Republic of Klent, as the Cubans had named it.
Conner was searching for a certain name, and once he found it, he paused.
Sergeant Nicholas Conner, Marines
"Victoriam, Libertas, Fortitúdo," Conner whispered the Marine motto as he remembered his fallen brother.
During the final days of the War of Western Cuban Occupation, Conner's unit was ambushed and massacred, with him being the only survivor. He managed to wander to the makeshift field hospital within the Executive House and took up a guard position.
Meanwhile, his older brother was leading the last reconnaissance mission when his unit suffered the same fate as Conner's, only this time, there were no survivors. The bodies were found by a patrol and taken to the hospital. When the transports arrived and the bodies taken in, Conner instantly knew that Nicholas was dead. The loss intensified his hatred of the Cubans and cemented his patriotism.
Soon after the Articles of Occupation were signed by President McCurter and Congress, Conner was recruited into the Eastern Intelligence Agency's Secret Service branch, whose main prerogative was to keep tabs on the nations involved in the War so as to prepare for another, if needed.
What was proposed by the Millennium Project was to send in agents to specifically sabotage any government that threatened the national security of Klent, even if it meant doing so to the Cuban government. The man behind the idea was freshman Congressman Jacob Estevez. He was a Unionist, the same party as President Williams, and thus also had a vendetta against the Cubans.
The higher-ups of the intelligence community rejected Estevez's plan, at first. Then a group of elite troops attacked the capitol of Klent's hidden colony; they were apprehended soon after they breached, but nonetheless the fact that they just waltzed passed almost all of the security measures that were in place was highly embarrassing, igniting support for the Project.
The various agency executives were still deliberating on how set the Project in motion, hence they kept it secret from field agents, that is, until Conner decided to peruse the Director's desk.
"Reminiscing?" Conner whizzed around to find President McCurter staring back at him.
Shocked by the sudden appearance, Conner stuttered, "Sir... Sir, what are you doing here?"
"Gram, I've told you not to call me Sir; our meeting a little over five years ago put an end to all formalities," McCurter told him with a kind smile, "As to answer your question, I'm here because of you and your curiosity."
"Millennium?" Conner already knew the answer.
"Yep, and we're meeting the Director in his office for your briefing," McCurter informed Conner.
Conner was elated, "I'm being assigned?"
"Let's go to the meeting, and you'll find out," the President started walking down the hall, followed by his entourage of Presidential Guard agents, and Conner soon after.
***
Conner sat at the conference table within the Director's office, along with President McCurter, Samson, the Director, and Congressman Estevez, who was hurriedly sorting various files that he had brought with him. Estevez's lollygagging annoyed the President, who then coughed to get his attention, "I believe it's time to start the briefing."
A nervous smile on Estevez's face showed that he knew he was being a problem, "Yes, Sir; Agent Conner, since you are aware of the Millennium and what it entails, and that you are the only agent who is aware of its existence, it's been decided that you will be the 'prototype' so to speak," Estevez began as he handed Conner the case file.
Conner thumbed through it, "Stoniaso, Chezlovolvia, Grays Harbor, Luxiai, etcetera... Western Cuba," he read off the list of nations that would be covered by the Project.
"Yes, well, we can't always be sure they have our best interests at heart, now can we?" Estevez explained.
"I agree, but we can't just go in guns blazing," McCurter cut in.
"From what I can tell, we don't; we sneak in and set the seeds of destruction from within," Conner countered.
"Agent Conner's correct, Sir, the strategy is to have them crumble from the inside out, and have the operative or operatives dissapear without a trace," Estevez continued to explain.
"You mean disappear or die, right?" Samson rejected the whole idea, "I hate the Cubans as much as the next guy, but if any one of our agents were caught, they'd be executed on sight," he protested, "Besides, some don't even care if we're free or not and some even seem to want to let us go, so why betray them when things could go either way?"
"Because things could go either way," the Director spoke for the first time, "Mister President, I'm willing to go ahead with this if you are," he declared.
The President took a moment to decide, "Alright," he nodded.
Samson let out a sigh of frustration that seemingly went without notice.
"Agent Conner, the first part of your mission is to go Manevrro, the Stoniasoan seat of power, and spy on the leaders, getting information on their military, that of their Chezlovolvian occupiers and to find any and all links to Western Cuba, and report back to one of us," Congressman Estevez laid out the plan for Conner, "Then, depending on the intel, make your way to Western Cuba, get info, give it to us, and then attempt to sabotage all vessels bound for Klent, loosening their stranglehold and making way for rebellion."
Conner raised his right brow, "This is a lot, even for the most experienced field agent, will I have assistance?"
"We've established assets that you can contact if the situation arises," Samson reluctantly let on.
Conner just had one last question, "When?"
"You take off at o-nine-hundred tomorrow," answered the Director.
"Well then, I better get some rest," Conner stood and went to the door before turning, "Merry Christmas, gentlemen."
"I'm Jewish," Samson smirked.
"Happy Hanukkah, in that case," Conner shot back as he exited the office, closing the door behind him.
Samson turned to Estevez, who was stowing his papers in his briefcase, "How come you didn't mention Stevens?"
"It's not relevant," the Congressman mumbled in annoyance.
"You mean to say that the fact that we already have an operative in Cuba isn't relevant?" Samson's anger was noticeable by his tone.
"Gentlemen, Gram is going on this mission and that has been declared final and as such, what happens happens, I'm sure President McCurter agrees," the Director motioned for the President to respond.
While he knew Samson's points were valid, he also knew that Millennium would ensure the security of the land he was charged with, "Gram's a good man and a good soldier, he'll know what to do in any scenario, and with that, I bid you gentlemen ado," the President rose, as did the others out of formality and respect.
After McCurter left Samson yet again faced Congressman Estevez, "You better hope this thing doesn't backfire," he growled.
A smug grin formed on Estevez's face, "Don't worry, old man, everything'll be fine," and he left as well.
As Samson looked on, he contained his outrage, Famous last words, from a politician even, he thought.
Manevrro, Stoniaso
Palazzo del Parlamento
January 4, 2000
They had given him the name Marc Petri. His cover was as an aide at Stoniaso's Parliament under Member of Parliament Lorenzo Arlio, and thus far the only information he was able to pick up on was the MP's taste in expensive food and cheap women; nothing new to the political climate of the island confederacy.
***
Conner was fortunate that he spoke fluent Italian and Latin, the native languages of the country. There was a small episode at the airport as to why he had a weapon in his luggage, and he quickly charmed his way out of the situation by explaining how he was an international salesman and that he had had previous experiences that forced him to be 'cautious'. It helped that the security agent he was dealing with was female, and obviously quite taken with him.
Conner managed to escape and made it to his hotel, where the Service had sent an analyst by the name of Christopher Willows. They greeted each other as cousins, taking care to do so with all the Stoniasoan customs of embracing one another followed by a vigorous hand shake and then another embrace.
They spoke in Latin, "Marc, my dear cousin, it's so great to see you and in such good health, you must be a mystic!" Willows gleamed.
"Ah, cousin, nothing but healthy meals and plenty of exercise," Conner replied as the two headed towards the elevator.
Once they entered, Conner motioned to ask if there were security cameras in the elevator, Willows shook his head.
Conner began in English, "I assume your Willows?"
"Yes, and you Conner?" Willows returned.
Conner nodded before moving on to the brief, "What's the story?"
"I'm an aide to Deputato Lorenzo Arlio, your my cousin whose just come back home from studying abroad, and I nominated you as my replacement," Willows explained.
"Am I your replacement?" Conner asked, referring to the former's assignment.
"You have more leeway as an agent than I do as an analyst, I'm set to head back home to reap the fruits of you labor."
"How nice; what's you're cover name?"
"Noè Augustus, we're related through your mother Maria," The elevator opened on the third floor for a moment and Willows pressed the force-close button before anyone could get in.
"Gear?"
"All in the room, number four-thirty-two, here's the key," he handed Conner the silver room key.
The elevator opened on the fourth floor; Conner stepped out as Willows remained inside as the doors slid shut. He headed down the hall and stopped at the door reading "432", making sure he was not followed before he unlocked the door, and went into the room. He closed the door behind him and found a locked, leather-bound case lying in the center of the queen-sized bed.
Conner placed his stuff on the corner desk and then went for the case. He investigated it, finding that it required a tree-digit combination entered on either side. He thought for moment before coming up with a possibility. He entered the numbers four, three and two into both locks. The catches released and he opened the case.
Conner whistled, "I love it when they give me the new toys."
Within the case was a listening device, custom fitted to the inner canal of Conner's ear, that could literally listen through walls, and record whatever the wearer heard. Also inside were expertly forged documents of identity and nationality including passports and driver's licences in addition to a wrist-watch fitted with several manually set timers and hidden camera. The quartermaster's department had also equipped him with a Beretta 92FS pistol and M4 carbine rifle in case any trouble were to ensue.
***
Now, as he watched Arlio fumble about from his desk, he longed for an opportunity to do his job. All he needed was for the old slob to take a lunch break, leaving his office, and files, ripe for the taking. As fate would have it, as Conner began daydreaming, the old legislator did just what was needed and left his office, passed Conner by to tell him that he was having a luncheon with a campaign contributor.
As soon as he was sure the Deputato had left and that the coast was clear, Conner stood up and hurried to the office, "Time to get to work," he cheered under his breath.
Conner carefully sifted through the reports, memos, and other documents on Arlio's desk making sure to put each one back in its place. He could not find anything of relevance, so he decided to look through the filing cabinets and came across a file labeled "Occupando Militare", (Occupying Military). Peaking his interest, he decided to pull it out and opened it on the desk.
What he found were several pictures and schematics of Chezlovolvian Naval ships and maps of ground forces deployed at bases all over the islands. There was also a list of Chezlovolvian officers listed by rank along with what seemed to be a ledger showing pay-offs, "Now why would you be bribing them?" Conner wondered aloud.
At the end of the file he found memorandums detailing specific protocols for the event of Stoniaso rebelling with plans of attack attached to them. He took pictures of everything with the hidden camera in his watch and then carefully placed everything back into the file, which he then put back into the cabinet. However, before he was able to continue searching, he heard the Deputato's voice. He was forced to sneak out of the office before he was caught.
As Conner closed the door behind him, he discovered one of the secretaries staring at him, Shit, he groaned from within.
He saw Arlio turn the corner with a colleague and made a dash for his desk, neither men took notice as they entered the office. Conner let out a sigh of relief when he remembered the secretary and looked up to find her. She was still at her desk, pretending to be busy typing up a report or something of that nature. He decided to go up to her and do damage control, yet before he was even able to get a word out she started whispering a flurry of questions in Italian, "What were you doing in the Deputato's office? Don't you know it's off limits while he's gone? Why were you hiding? Who are you?"
The barrage left Conner a little shocked. It was a few moments before he was able to gather his thoughts in order to answer, "Jessica, I won't lie to you, I'm not here to serve the government, I'm a journalist, and I'm digging up evidence of corruption within the halls of Parliament," he began.
"But everyone knows there's corruption, it's the worst kept secret in Manevrro," Jessica countered.
"Yes, but if it's proved in black and white, then it'll get the attention of the international community, and then the public will be forced to deal with the sluggards that we call leaders,' Conner maintained.
Jessica thought it over for a moment, "So you were looking for evidence in his office?"
"Si," he replied.
"What paper?" she inquired.
"Pardon?"
"You said you were a journalist, so you either work for a paper or a network,' she explained.
"I work for a network," Conner began to worry as his impromptu cover began to fall apart.
"Which one?" Jessica asked.
Conner knew he was taking to long to come up with an answer and so did she, "Don't worry, Agent Conner, I'm with the Servizio Federale Investigativo, your agency gave my director notice of your presence, who in turn notified me," she spoke in fluent English.
Taken aback, Conner hesitated to respond, "I guess that means we're on the same side then."
"In a manner of speaking," she replied cryptically.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"This isn't the place, meet me at the Caffè Aquila during the lunch break tomorrow and I'll explain further," she told him.
Conner opened his mouth but did not have the chance to speak before a couple of reporters turned the corner. Jessica and Conner smiled and pointed towards the office. The reporters smiled their thanks in return and made their way into the office.
Conner then turned back to Jessica, "Tomorrow, twelve-thirty, Caffè Aquila, don't be late," she reminded him then left.
He returned to his desk and thought, Servizio Federale Investigativo; the Service has never had contact with a Stoniasoan agency, besides, they've hated us since the early days of the monarchy, so why would she be an asset? I have have a bad feeling about this...
Caffè Aquila
January 5th, 2000
12:30 PM
Marc Petri sat patiently at a table outside the cafe, sipping a cup of coffee, as he waited for Jessica to show. He watched the townspeople as they made their errands. He checked his watch, "Five minutes late," he began to complain when he heard a voice come from behind him.
"Mister Petri, may I remind you that Deputato Arlio had me in on his meeting with the Finance Minister? I was lucky to get out of there at the time I did," it was Jessica.
Marc stood up to greet her in Italian, "I never doubted you for second."
Jessica gave him a stern look as she sat down across from him, "I find that a bit hard to believe, Marc."
"Speaking of things that are hard to believe, I couldn't help but wonder why you of all people would want to help me," Agent Conner was careful to whisper in English so as to not warrant any unwanted attention.
Jessica seemed insulted, "What do you mean? I told you why," she growled under her breath.
"Our nations hate each other, what possible reason would the SFI have to assist the Agency?" Conner asked, maintaining his volume.
Jessica returned to her normal tone and language, "Well, well, well, Mister Petri, I'm very flattered, but I think we should finish this conversation at the hotel, don't you?" she rose out of her seat and raised her brow at Conner.
Slightly confused, Conner replied, "I can't help but agree with you, Miss Carmine," he left the payment for the coffee on the table, then stood and took Jessica's arm.
She whispered into his ear, "Your car."
They walked towards the navy blue sedan that the Service had provided him with. They stepped in and drove off to Conner's hotel, with Conner himself still perplexed as to the purpose of the ruse.
***
The two entered the room and closed the door behind them. Jessica sat on the bed and tapped the spot beside her for Conner to sit. His curiosity heightened, he did as such. Jessica very delicately slid her hands across Conner's face and began to whisper, "They see and hear everything, that's why we must be careful, do you understand?"
Conner caressed her hair, "The Chezlovolvians?"
Jessica nodded, "Where?" he mouthed.
She glanced around the room, implying the existence of listening devices, "We're about to make a move for independence, and we'll do anything to get it, even if it means getting into bed with our oldest rivals," she explained as she began to take off his jacket.
"Literally," Conner smirked.
"This is all part of the cover, don't get any ideas," she breathed into his ear.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Jessica smiled, "Good..."
Manevrro, Stoniaso
Outside the Palazzo del Parlamento
January 6, 2000
Agent Gram Conner sat in the driver's seat of his car as his mobile phone rang. SFI Officer Jessica Carmine waited in the passenger seat. The ringing stopped when a computerized female voice answered, "Thank you for calling Vandertramp Logistics, if you are a customer please press one, if you are an employee please press tw..." Conner pressed the two button immediately, "Please give your employee identification number," the computer requested.
"Charlie Echo Seven Five Zulu Three Eight," he answered.
It rang once again until a live male voice cut in, "Agent identification..."
"Conner, Gram."
"Who are you contacting?"
"Samson, Duke," Conner told.
"Please hold," the phone started to ring yet again.
Jessica began to get impatient, "Is this going to take any longer because I'm sure Arlio is going to notice our absence."
Conner covered the phone with his hand, "I don't call in, they worry, they send in a team, international incident, so I call," he explained rather shortly.
"Samson," the other end of the line came through.
"It's Conner, I've come in contact with an SFI officer down here," he informed Samson.
"Ah, yes,that."
"You all failed to mention that in the debrief," Conner's shortness transferred to his mentor.
"Actually, I'm surprised you didn't find that out by yourself, that being a specialty of yours," Samson shot back.
"I guess I deserved that, but what do we do about this?"
"The enemy of our enemy is our friend, even if they've tried to kill us in the past, besides, I figured this asset would interest you, no?" Samson chortled.
Jessica heard, "What was that?"
Conner quickly took control of the situation, "Thanks for the info, Samson, bye," he hung up, "We'd better get inside," he suggested to Jessica.
"Yes, let's," she agreed, even though she was slightly confused.
They stepped out of the car and walked up the steps to the entrance. After they passed through security they made their way to Arlio's office. Once they entered, they found him waiting for them, "You're late," he said in Italian.
"Sorry Deputato, I had a flat, won't happen again," Conner covered as he went to his desk.
"So you too came here together?" Arlio inquired.
"No, why?" Jessica took her seat behind her desk.
"Well, you're both late, and both at the same time. Not to mention the fact that I saw you too get out of his car, which, by the way, had four fully functional tires as far as I could tell," Arlio saw right through their deception.
Conner and Jessica stared at one another, "I don't mind you two seeing one another romantically, but just don't lie to me, I don't appreciate being treated like a fool, understand?"
They were relieved; their cover was successful, "Yes Deputato," they nodded in unison.
"Petri, make sure my schedule is clear this evening," Arlio ordered as he stood to walk toward his private office.
"Yes, Si...," Conner was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass and the spray of red mist that spewed out of Arlio's head as the bullet shot through him.
Both Conner and Jessica instinctively hit the floor and reached for their weapons; Conner tried to find the shooter through the blown window, before a second shot ricocheted off the exposed window pane and landed near him. Jessica, however, managed to locate the assassin, "Office building, second window from the right, third floor," they both took aim and fired.
Conner jumped to his feet, "I'll go see, you take care of things here," Jessica did not have time to protest before Conner went sprinting out of the office to the street.
Jessica stood to analyze the situation. Arlio was lying dead on the floor, bleeding from the hole in the middle of his temple, and she could hear a commotion in the hall. I would only be a manner of minutes before people would be storming into the office, and she had to decide whether to keep to the cover or reveal her true identity. She chose both. The secretaries from the neighboring Deputatos' offices were the first come rushing in, surprisingly though, only a few fainted and shrieked at the scene, "Oh, what in all that is holy happened?" one them shrilled.
Jessica maintained a calm composure, "Everyone, I'm an agent from SFI, this office is now a crime scene, I must ask you to step out into the hallway where I and my partner will address any questions you may have as soon as he returns."
Drivers yelled out Latin curses as they jerked to a stop to avoid hitting Conner as he dashed across the road to the building, and trotted in through the entrance. His eyes darted around the lobby as he searched for the service stairs and then sped toward them. Once he got to the empty third floor, he gripped his pistol and cautiously looked in each space until he found the sniper's perch with the rifle leaning against the wall next to the cracked window.
He knelt down to inspect it, then felt the presence of someone behind him. He focused a shard of glass and saw the reflection a man standing in the doorway. Conner slowly rose to his feet; he tightened his grip on his Beretta and tenuously turned to face his would-be attacker. First he focused on the gleaming silver barrel, then the tan hand and forearm leading up to the black short-sleeve tee-shirt and then finally the face.
Tasseled brown hair, light blue eyes, defined lines around the mouth and a healed scar curving from just under the right eye to the lip. Apart from the scar, the face was grimly familiar. Conner knew the assassin, "Nic..."
The force of the bullet hitting the Kevlar sent him flying out of the window, destroying what was left of it. The fall was short lived and broken by a parked maroon sedan. As Conner drifted off into unconsciousness, the man's face reappeared to the forefront of his mind. It was not possible. It could not be true. He hated it, yet he did know who the man was. Nicholas Conner.
Manevrro, Stoniaso
Caipitil Ospidéal Ginearálta (Capitol General Hospital)
January 7, 2000
A man woke with a start finding himself in a hospital room. Pain pulsed through his head and spine and he let out a yelp. A nurse then came hurdling into the room, "Oh, la mia povera cara, si è nel dolore? Abbiamo bisogno di andare al dottor Alonzo veloce. Peccato che è in fondo alla strada in un bulding diverso. Ti porto io stesso, sono uno ottenere sulla sedia a rotelle e andiamo, tesoro."
It took a moment for the man to register that she was speaking Italian, telling him that she would take him to the doctor up the street and that he would have to get in a wheel chair, and that she was not a nurse, "Come to break me out, Jessica?" he whispered.
"Yes, Conner, and unless if you want me calling you honey again, I suggest that you get in this wheelchair," she was not pleased with his suddenly cavalier attitude.
"But I'm still in a hospital gown."
"There're clothes for you in the car, now get in the wheelchair!" she ordered.
"Sì, infermiera," he obeyed as he managed to painfully lift his body out of the bed and into the wheelchair.
Jessica pushed Conner out of the room and down the hallway to the elevator; once inside and alone, he dropped his positive disposition, "What was my dead brother doing there?"
She hesitated, "Your people will tell you when we get back to headquarters."
Conner was irritated, "I've been living with his death for six long years, I deserve to know why!" the force of his yell filled the nerves in his chest with agony, "Aaugh!"
"That bullet might not have gone into you but it did fracture a few ribs, plus landing on that car didn't help matters, you're just lucky nothing else was broken," she briefed him on his injuries.
"That doesn't answer my question."
She let out a long sigh before answering, "Based on reports from an asset of yours in the Western Cuban government, they think he's an agent of theirs."
The news did nothing to quell his rage, "That's impossible! Nick would nev... Ergh!" the pain interrupted him.
"Calm down. We don't know anything for sure; like I said, your people have more to tell you whan we get back to HQ," she attempted to comfort him.
The elevator doors opened onto the lobby; Jessica pushed Conner out the main entrance to the hospital and helped him into the passenger's side of the car. She then folded the wheelchair and stored it in the trunk and walked over into the driver's seat, "That wasn't too hard, now was it?"
"What assets do we have in Cuba?" she winced at his question for she hope that he did not notice that she had said that.
"Your people will tell you," she turned to see Conner glaring at her, still expecting an answer.
"An agent named Stevens or something like that, his deep undercover in their government; now that's the last question I'm going to answer before we get back to headquarters."
She started the car and drove off towards their headquarters. On the way, she noticed Conner looking about the interior of the car, "What is it?"
"Didn't you say that there would be clothes for me in here?" he asked as he raised his brow.
She just smiled.
Havana, Western Cuba
Hotel Melia Habana
January 7, 2000
Agent Jarred Stevens sat at the desk in his room looking out over the sparkling blue ocean and sipped his fourth mojito as he waited for the phone to ring.
He was assigned to be a mole with the Western Cuban government practically right after the end of the War. Six years was a long time to maintain a cover, but he was a natural at it. The fact that his personality charmed any and all that he came in contact with coupled with his notorious alcohol tolerance and good tan made him fit right in. His service in the Klentian Bureau of Investigation from 1988 to 1992 helped a little as well.
Stevens did, however, have a few qualms about living amongst the enemy for so long. He fiercely fought against them during the War and his actions awarded him the rank of Sergeant and the Distinguished Service Medal. His main reason for singing up was that a Cuban soldier murdered his wife in the initial invasion; every Klentian lost someone in that war, every Klentian hated the Cubans despite the administration's official stance. He despised each and everyone of them, but you would not know it from his performance which he pulled of brilliantly.
He spoke fluent Spanish with a flawless accent, knew every facet of the local culture, loved the food and was loved by the people he knew. After six years, it was beginning to get difficult for him to deceive those people, but each time he came into personal conflict, he remembered holding his dying wife in his arms and he was back on the mission.
The phone rang and he answered, "Emanuel Santos a su servicio, que es esto?
"This is a call from Vandertramp Logistics, please hold as we secure this call," Stevens waited as music with a quality just above that of an elevator played.
A beeping noise followed and then a voice came through, "Stevens, how are things?"
"Duke, why things couldn't be better," he gleamed but then quickly changed his tone and volume, "How's the kid?"
"Little bruised up but fine, angry I'm sure," Samson related.
"I would be too if someone who I thought was dead turned out not to be."
"True; any developments?" Samson inquired.
"Makarov said yesterday that he'd call a meeting today involving all the higher-ups, I'm invited," Stevens informed him.
"What do you think Vladimir wants to say now?"
"No idea, to be honest, but he has seemed a little jumpy lately, who knows," Stevens answered rather half-heartily.
"Yes; don't forget the recorder, you did last time," Samson reminded him.
"Yes, Dear, I love you too," Stevens replied in his characteristically sarcastic way.
"Alright, alright, talk with you again at o-eleven-hundred," Samson signed off.
Stevens got up to get dressed for the day in his pink dress shirt and white jacket and slacks. He was about to call room service for one last mojito when the phone rang again, and he answered in Spanish yet again, "Emanuel Santos at your service, who's this?"
"Santos! Good to hear you awake friend!" a Cuban official replied in Spanish in turn.
"Let me guess, Makarov wants us now?"
"Yes my friend, I'm afraid you'll have to wait for your umpteenth mojito," the official joked.
Stevens laughed, "See you there," and hung up.
***
Stevens arrived at the entrance of Makarov's building and headed in through the door, "At least I remembered your bloody recorder, Samson," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that, Santos?" the official came up behind him.
"Ah, I just keep forgetting you all don't have valets," Stevens covered.
"I see, you must remember that we Cubans have a different Communism than you Dondrisites," the official teased.
"That's why I moved here, friend."
The two walked up to the door of Makarov's office and entered.
