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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Apr 4, 2016 14:03:51 GMT -5
The rattle of a Kalashnikov close by startles Lawrence awake. Looking out the window, he sees the day is fully underway. Dressing quickly he makes his way down to the porch where Mustaffah sits smoking American cigarettes. "Good morning, my friend!" Mustaffah greets him. "You are just in time, we have business to discuss." "Indeed" Lawrence croaks. Sitting back on a padded chair Lawrence sips strong Turkish coffee while he is brought up to speed on all the information Mustaffah has on the Vevoda factory. Over the course of the morning Lawrence and Mustaffah formulate a plan to infiltrate the plant using some of Mustaffah's tribesmen to take the place of a rover guard of a rival clan who is on Vevoda's payroll. Then under cover of darkness Lawrence will be brought into the plant to do what needed to be done. However, none of this could be done until Lawrence informed Allenby that he was in the area in case he needed backup. Mustaffah offered him the use of his Land Rover and Lawrence made haste for the British HQ located in the Green Zone about 6 KM away.
Making his way through the checkpoints around the base, Lawrence is finally shown into Allenby's office. "Lawrence old boy! Good to see you son." Allenby says with a handshake. "And you as well sir. I have some news." Lawrence alluded. "Have a seat and bring me up to speed." Allenby says motioning towards the empty chair in front of his chair. Over the next hour Lawrence filled in his old boss on the events since their last meeting. "What a bloody mess." groaned Allenby reclining in his chair. "Indeed it is sir" Lawrence nodded. "Currently we are operating about 20 KM from the plant doing clearing operations alongside the Iraqis. It is a real hotbed and progress is agonizingly slow. I can't guarantee I'll be able to assist." Allenby said matter of factly. "I understand sir, but if I don't move now I may not get the information I need to stop him. I will proceed with the plan and if you can get some troops into that region to back me up, then that will help keep them distracted." Lawrence said. Standing to his feet Allenby shook Lawrence's hand, "Very good son. You are welcome to take anything you need from the armory here." "Thank you sir." Lawrence stiffened into a sharp salute. Allenby returned it. "Good luck Captain, dismissed"
Lawrence didn't visit the armory on the way out but stopped by the technology section on his way out and retrieved a device to help him download the server information back to HQ. Driving out of the camp Lawrence sighed. "Good plan old boy." he muttered to himself. Arriving back at Mustaffah's they again go over the plan. Mustaffah agrees to push the Iraqi Army's operations more towards the plant to clear as much resistance and add as much confusion to the area as possible. He also agrees to letting Lawrence arm himself from his "private stock" of weapons collected after the collapse of the Turkish regime. Additionally, he tells Lawrence that he has sent instructions to local spy's to send back fresh intelligence on the state of affairs near the plant site. The incursion would take place in a fortnight. In the meantime, Lawrence began to prepare himself for what was going to be the most difficult incursion of his life.
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Post by The Fixer on Apr 6, 2016 0:54:46 GMT -5
Yet another page flutters to the floor. Coloured pen marks stain her fingers, the sheets and the pant leg of her pyjamas. A smudge of blue ink streaks her right cheek where she rubbed a little itch earlier. Two pens are twisted into her hair holding it off her neck and revealing tiny ringlet curls at the nap. Therapy over for another day, Clue set to work with those pages again. Finally on a roll, she's mapped out locations found in the files. Coordinates of every site circled and scribbled on maps and in her notebook. Photographs and images now have notes jotted on their reverse. The centre staff now know that when they find Clue perched in the middle of the bed with the mysterious pages strewn about the room they are to leave her be. Completely alone to talk to herself and mutter under her breath. To outsiders she would like a slightly deranged professor so immersed in their work that general hygiene is forgotten. Thankfully it's just a rare moment of progress and she rides the wave of it until exhaustion.
Having completed therapy, and a session at the shooting range on site, she sat down with her file 6 hours ago. 03:00am and she is finally starting to fade. Eyes drooping, blurred vision, and yawns that bring tears are now hitting her hard. She lays back on the bed to close her eyes, left arm resting across them to block out the light. Starting to click pieces into place she is not actually conscious of the moment she drifts to sleep, still puzzling through the material.
Lights still on, pages literally everywhere around her. Pens leaking tiny droplets of ink on the sheets, and one that has fallen from her fingers to land on her chest, leaving a blue line from cheek to chin, Clue succumbs to the unconscious world of dreams. Locked away tight in the centre. Guards on duty. Staff in isolation quarters on site.
She dreams of ships and planes. Of Agents and music; of peaches and cream and dancing and clouds. She dreams of shooting a man and whispered words.
When the dreams morph again she is thrown into a familiar and terrifying scene. Only now she sees the man she killed too. Blood dripping from his wounds as he weaves through the already gruesome scenes of death and blood and helplessness. She hears the sounds and smells everything like it is real. Only this time a new set of images appear. Older and deeper that before. Things her conscious mind thought were long ago buried. Protesting and fighting the images in her head, to anyone watching her sleep they would see the tears streaming down her face and the thrashing start. Emotions changing the pictures in her head, trying to save her from replaying the scenes, trying to find ways of changing the inevitable outcomes, like someone changing the channels on the television.
Her brain only allows so much before it wakes her again. Terrified and alone, Clue awakens to racking sobs. Nobody to help sooth them this time.
Alone, among all of the pieces of the case, she hugs the pillow to herself, curling into it and gives in to the jagged sobs now shaking her body. The guards remain at their posts and pretend not to hear her. Emptying herself into the pillow, she lets everything out. The fear that was the undercurrent the morning she shot the agent. The terror lying deep inside the night the bomb blew up the cottage and when she thought Lawrence was gone too. All of the older memories intermingled into the new ones. All of it comes pouring out of her. A solid hour of racking sobs, a box of tissue and a wet pillow later, Clue has finally cried herself out. Looking around the room she takes about a minute to gather all of the pieces of the file scattered about to stack it all and tuck it away in the drawer. Dumping the pens on top she lets her hair down, and turns out the lights. Crawling back into bed and curling into a ball she pulls the covers up over her head, leaving only her eyes and nose visible. Loneliness creeps in and she prays Lawrence is safe, wherever he may be.
Laying in the dark she waits for sleep to come again. Resting her eyes closed to be ready for it. An empty black hole void of dreams that comes only from purging every emotion and exhausting the body.
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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Apr 6, 2016 10:55:18 GMT -5
The rattle of the long worn out diesel engine fills Lawrence's ears. Looking around at his companions in the dark he can see them talking in Arabic, checking their weapons and making ready for the raid. The roving patrol of local tribesmen had been a quick and easy affair and they were now on their way to the plant. Thinking to himself, Lawrence noted how the two weeks before had flown by. Endless preparation, checking intelligence, coordination, etc etc. It had kept Lawrence's days full. Now the time had come. Before leaving out for the raid Lawrence made one last stop by HQ to check on the progress of the British and IA in the Fallujah area. While progress had been made they were still too far away to be of much help in any hurry. Expecting as much Lawrence bid farewell to Allenby and passed along two letters. One was a revised will and testament, the other a personal letter to Clue. He knew in his heart this was his last mission and that he would never see her again. He regretted he never told her how much he truly loved her or even his first name. In his letter he rectified both of those mistakes.
Looking down he checked the chambered round in the AK sitting between his knees. He checked the old Webley as well. Both were ready and he was as ready as he would ever be. Leaning back against the dusty canvas of the truck he thought of the poem Clue had told him and a section came to mind.
At dawn, the call of the night guard woke me from my dream, from my language: You will live another death, so revise your last will, the hour of execution is postponed again. I asked: Until when? He said: Wait till you have died some more. I said: I possess nothing so nothing can possess me and have written my will in my own blood
For so long now the date of his execution had been postponed. He knows he should have died so many times and yet he lives again. Then another saying came to mind.
Every time I almost die I feel so alive. So why would I ever want to be careful?
Thinking on that Lawrence grins in the dark as the old truck lurches to a stop. The driver exchanges the pass with the guards and in a moment the truck lurches forward again passing through the gates. Making their way through the plant Lawrence makes sure one last time the Arab clothing he is wearing is completely in place. Satisfied, the truck pulls up in front of the Administrative Building. Looking out from the back of the truck he can see that there are more guards this time and on top of that he had a feeling Steede was here somewhere waiting for him. With the poem still fresh in his mind Lawrence hops out of the back of the truck and mutters to himself:
"It seems I have a date with the hangman. I would hate to keep him waiting."
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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Apr 6, 2016 15:36:28 GMT -5
A large explosion shatters the stillness of the night. "Right on time." Lawrence muses looking down at his watch. Mustaffah's tribesmen had detonated the fuel dump on the west side of the compound according to plan. By now they would be making they're way out of the compound to disappear back into the desert. The compound went into full lock-down with guards running to and fro. The sound of gunfire cracked over the other confused noises as tribesmen and guards traded shots back and forth. Slipping into the building Lawrence dropped his disguise in order to be more comfortable. Making his way to the server room he dispatched a few guards along the way. Using an obtained ID card to gain entry he attached the download device to the main computer. Syncing the satellite connection the little device did it's work and all Lawrence had to do was protect the room until it completed. This was no easy feat as guards began to attack the Administrative Building. Using borrowed weapons and ammo from the dead guards, Lawrence held the room until the download device finally signaled that it was finished. Taking a lump of borrowed C-4 explosive Lawrence quickly rigged the servers to blow. After setting the detonator, Lawrence pushed back into the hallway firing as he went. Barricading himself in a side office by jamming the door, he got himself together to escape out a side window.
The rifle fire was increasing as more guards no longer fooled by the fuel dump fire began to converge on him. Smashing the window with his rifle butt Lawrence pushes through the shards of glass and into the open air. A group of guards hearing the breaking glass raced around the corner rifles firing. Using grenades and his rifle Lawrence cuts some of them down and pushes the others back far enough to duck around the back of the building. Looking for shelter he notices a large production facility close by. Looking for shelter from the storm of bullets around him, Lawrence kicks the door open and pushes inside. Jamming the door closed behind him, Lawrence pushes deeper into the plant.
In his haste to get in he misses the chemical warning signs on the door. Entering a large room Lawrence suddenly realizes he is in the belly of the beast.
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Post by The Fixer on Apr 7, 2016 15:08:37 GMT -5
Moving in a running crouch, Clue pops off three shots into the first target on her right, before sending three more into the target on her left. At target number three, on the corner of the simulated building, she sends her last two, a little high of centre before reloading. Stopping, standing to full height, and waiting for the range master to confirm the shots, she takes a moment to breathe in the fresh outdoor air. Finally being able to move again, and being cleared to get back onto the range to work through simulations, she’s beginning to feel like her old self. The left leg still twinges sometimes when rapidly changing directions, but it isn’t anything like having something impaling it so she files the annoyance away.
Physical training has been going well. Therapies are moving along. Meditation, yoga and ballet have proven interesting additions and are helping with movement and reminding her about being light on her feet. An advantage in stealth, should she ever need it.
The codes are starting to drop like flies these days as well. There are holes in the intelligence, and the information may require additional fieldwork but that will have to come once she’s finally cleared. Being on her own isn’t helping either, and with things so compartmentalized, she has been afraid to reach out to her contacts for fear of leaking seemingly unimportant facts that could come back to bite her later.
On previous cases, she simply worked it on her own, covering the ground herself. She didn’t have to worry about handlers, or partners, or government involvement, politics or any of that, and she only took cases that she wanted. This time around, having to stay regimented and in line by all of these people, has made her more irritated. Her supposed partner, she can only assume, has found himself in the field and gathering all kinds of potentially useful intel. Trouble is, she has no idea what he has, where he is, or when she’ll get reconnected with him. A mission that started out looking like it would be double the team and half the time has quickly turned into life threatening, and life altering chaos.
The Range Master indicates that progress is good with the last drill. He has finished setting up the next drill and has given the green light to begin. Shaking the thoughts from her mind, checking her weapon, ear protection and eye protection, she takes a deep breath and starts moving.
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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Apr 8, 2016 12:26:15 GMT -5
Eyes stinging and beginning to choke from the fumes, Lawrence quickly donned a protective mask. Taking a few deep breaths after getting it settled he began to settle out. Staring out through the masks small eye-holes he is astonished at what he sees. Rows upon rows of drums bearing flammability and corrosive markings. Realizing that he had a chance to blow the chemical manufacturing facility Lawrence immediately set to work. As he made his way down rows puncturing some of the flammable barrels and leaving chunks of C-4 with remote detonators on others he made his way through the storage area. Working quickly he made ready to set the lot alight. Making his way to the other end of the room he hears the staccato of rifle fire increase outside. Looking through a barrel hatch to the exterior he sees elements of the Iraqi Army had finally reached the plant and was engaging the guards. Smiling, Lawrence thought maybe he had been wrong and might get out of this after all. As he pushed through to the rear door he encountered a large group of guards. Their accurate fire pushed him back from the exit into the plant. As he ran a round hits him in the back just above his armor plating and exits out of his chest in the front. The impact knocked him flat onto his face, his head smacking the concrete hard. Dazed he grabs his rifle, looks back, and fires a burst back at the perusing guards, knocking one down. As the rest take cover he tries to pick himself up and is hit again in the armor. The wind is knocked out of him again and he rolled to his right side behind a concrete wall to take cover.
Pulling himself inside a close doorway Lawrence leaves a growing trail of blood on the floor. Propping up against the cold concrete wall he realizes the room is a small store room from which there is no escape. Using the dim light of a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling Lawrence applied a pressure bandage and manages to stop the bleeding. But breathing has become hard and he feels the increase of pressure in his chest. Dropping the mask the air is clear in here, but it still hurt to breathe. Whether by the guard's bullets or his own explosives Lawrence knew he was finished. With all the determination he can muster he set himself up to face the door, pulls the detonator, from his bag and awaits his executioners. As he waits he recalls an old poem that had been a favorite in his family:
Before my light goes out for ever if God should
give me a choice of graces,
I would not reck of length of days, nor crave
for things to be;
But cry: “One day of the great lost days, one face
of all the faces,
Grant me to see and touch once more and
nothing more to see.
“For, Lord, I was free of all Thy flowers, but I
chose the world’s sad roses,
And that is why my feet are torn and mine eyes
are blind with sweat,
But at Thy terrible judgment-seat, when this my
tired life closes,
I am ready to reap whereof I sowed, and pay my
righteous debt.
“But once before the sand is run and the silver
thread is broken,
Give me a grace and cast aside the veil of
dolorous years,
Grant me one hour of all mine hours, and let me
see for a token
Her pure and pitiful eyes shine out, and bathe
her feet with tears.”
Her pitiful hands should calm, and her hair stream
down and blind me,
Out of the sight of night, and out of the reach of
fear,
And her eyes should be my light whilst the sun
went out behind me,
And the viols in her voice be the last sound in
mine ear.
Before the ruining waters fall and my life be carried
under,
And Thine anger cleave me through as a child
cuts down a flower,
I will praise Thee, Lord, in Hell, while my limbs
are racked asunder,
For the last sad sight of her face and the little
grace of an hour.
Hearing shouts coming down the hallway Lawrence knew they would soon find him. Sure enough the knob on the door began to rattle. The guards begin furiously kicking at the locked door trying to break through. Lawrence steadied his rifle and squeezed the detonator, knowing that when he released it the charges would blow. Blow after blow the door absorbed but each one took its toll. The frame groaned and bent under each hit, finally the strike plate was knocked aside and the door flew open. The last thing the first guard in line saw as the door flew open was Lawrence with a grim smile on his face tossing the detonator aside and opening up with his rifle. Bullets flew, blood was spilled and the sounds of shouting and cries for help echoed through the small space.
The server room and the chemical storage room blew simultaneously. The barrels were burst and flames soon licked through the warehouse like fiery serpents. An enormous explosion rocked the area as the building blew. Inside the room Lawrence felt the blast's massive concussion and heard the structural supports groan and give way. His magazine depleted and the other guards stunned or running for cover, Lawrence accepted his fate. Dropping the empty rifle as the room collapsed around him he focused on the memory of his dance with Clue. If he was going to die he wanted his last thoughts to belong to her. They were the only thing he had left to give and wanted to do so even if she would never know about it.
As the room crashed down upon him, Lawrence closed his eyes, took one last breath, and the fantasy world of their dance was quickly snuffed into blackness.
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Post by The Fixer on Apr 9, 2016 19:52:13 GMT -5
Her knee pinned against her sparing partners wind-pump, his arm wrench, and wrist bent to straining, she blows out a breath. Relaxing and dropping his arm, she helps him up and bows to him. Respecting the tradition, he returns the bow, and they both face the overseeing Sensai and bow. Being dismissed, she notices her handler standing at the back of the room, golf-clapping the performance. Walking to him, he indicates that a conversation is necessary.
Gathering her gear, quickly hitting the showers and changing, she makes her way to a boardroom. Sitting there, her handler, and two people she recognizes from that meeting that started all of this. Turns out some of the info she had earlier has allowed Black Ops groups to take down three of Vevoda’s factories – Santiago, Havana and Morondava. The meeting takes a little more than an hour, and Clue finally learns that she has been hidden in the Rockies for the last 2 months. Her healing has progressed nicely. She was informed about the infection she fought off just after rescue, a few of the procedures needed to repair the damage the explosion caused, and that if progress continues with the therapy, she’ll be cleared to return to the field in a week. There has been a boardroom set up for her, so she can continue her work.
Heading back to her quarters, something her handler said to her reminded her about a very poignant saying by D.H. Lawrence – “I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.”
With that in mind, she takes some time to herself in the shower. Letting go of the fatigue from the day, and emptying her mind. Letting the hot water wash away the pity, the loneliness, the fatigue, the confusion, the lingering questions about her abilities. Eager to get back to the field and find her partner, she shuts down for the night, laughing to herself at the image of Lawrence standing in that inn proud and puff-chested at the attire he had chosen the morning the world went pear-shaped.
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Post by The Fixer on Apr 10, 2016 17:59:16 GMT -5
Two days later, while she’s laughing at a joke her trainer told, she sees her handler again, sneaking into the room and waiting patiently for the session to be over. Sensing something off, she gathers her gear and says goodbye to the trainer.
Wiping her neck with a towel, a prickling sensation tingles the hairs there. It seems off that he’s back so soon after their last check in. She’s days away from being cleared completely, in better shape and with more training than she’s had, but this doesn’t feel right.
“Hi Mac. Twice in three days…” she says to him. “Clue, we need to talk”, he says back, with a grim look on his face.
They walk together to a lounge she has used for meditation because of the large bank of floor to ceiling windows that reveal the most beautiful, mountainous scenery, she’s ever seen. Sitting there, on one of the couches, is a man she doesn’t know. He rises, presenting a squared away man in uniform. Extending a hand to her, he introduces himself as General Allenby. The name doesn’t immediately ring for her, but a feeling begins creeping in. All three sit down on the couches in the lounge.
“Begging your pardon General, but why are you here?” Clue asks him.
The General smirks a little and looks at Mac “Straight to the point, just like you said Mac.”
The General takes a deep breath. Mac takes a deep breath. Clue is sitting on edge, waiting for one of these men to spit out whatever it is they are chewing on. Finally, the General speaks. He lays out the details of the latest raid on a Vevoda factory. Obviously leaving out a few details. As he’s speaking, Clue’s mind is racing. Allenby feels familiar somehow. Still thinking, and partially hearing about how members of the Iraqi army, and tribesmen of the area were able to take down an entire chemical factory under Vevoda’s control. Her mind finally clicks on the reason she knows Allenby and looks more sharply at the man. “Lawrence”, whispers from her lips.
Listening intently about the outcome of the incursion, and beginning to forget decorum and protocol, she interrupts the General, mid sentence. “General, where is Lawrence? Why are you really here?” Mac speaks, quickly trying to get her to listen to the General without interruption. Clue, having none of it, stands. The General, a little irritated at being interrupted, picks up his story again, ignoring her questions. Clue has stopped hearing Allenby. Her breathing is becoming more rapid, she’s standing behind the couch, gripping the back bent at the waist, head down a little, looking at the General’s lips moving, hearing little but her own heart beating in her ears. She is staring at him, eyes going icy.
Mac looks up at her, and anticipating the next outburst from Clue, turns to the General holding up his hand for the man to stop talking. “General, I think it best if you skip to the end of this, and answer Clue’s questions. Directly.”
Mac stands, walking to one of the windows, placing a hand on it, and hanging his head a little.
The General turns squarely to her, still seated. Looking at her, he says “Lawrence was in the plant when it blew. He is the one that set the charges to bring it down.”
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Post by The Fixer on Apr 10, 2016 18:08:11 GMT -5
In a quiet, gruff voice the General answers the one question he was hoping he could leave out. “We haven’t found a body. We don’t believe enough of him was left after the explosion and the fires. We got lucky with the trace we found that puts him in the room. The building collapsed on where we suspect his body should be, but there wasn’t anything more than some blood trace there.”
Chewing on the inside of her lip, she nods at the General. Her knees threatening to give out, her body beginning to shake, she gathers her forgotten gear, and begins walking back to her room. Half way there, everything she’s clamped down so hard on pushes through. Vision blurred, tears streaming, breathe hiccupping, she drops her stuff in the hall and flees to her room, slamming the door behind her.
Everything spilling, and in full cry mode, she slides silently down the back of the door, hysterical. Hugging her knees to herself, she empties all of the emotions she’s worked so hard to bottle. She weeps for the goodbye they never had. She weeps for the dances they won’t have; the kisses they won’t share; that she can’t remember what his smile looks like, or the smell of him lingering in a room. She weeps for all the times coming that she won’t be able to share something with him. She weeps because she let someone get past her guard enough to love.
General Allenby and Mac leave her alone for a while. Eventually, knowing there is more that Clue will need to know, Mac goes to her room. As he approaches, he can hear her sobbing. Heart-wrenching as it is, he taps lightly on the door. No answer. He tries the door. Locked. He knocks a little louder, calling out to her at the same time. He is met with a lot of sniffling. Understanding her need to appear together, especially now, he gives her a moment.
“Clue, come on. Open the door.” “Mac. Not now. Please. I can’t.” “I know, Clue. Let me in.”
Mac hears the door lock click off. Grabbing the handle and opening the door a crack, he knows he has to be careful because she’s still piled on the floor. The last time he found her like this, it was her second case. He hadn’t been with her long at that point, but he understood enough about that case to know that she was teetering on the edge now.
That case took her to a dark place that still haunts her. When they found her, she was holding and rocking the little girl in her arms. The police had already arrested the man charged with raping and molesting her. That in itself was enough to start her down the path to a dark place. Mac found out after, that the case had hit home hard for Clue, having been through an almost identical situation in her early childhood. For the little girl, knowing the man that had done that to her would be spending a lifetime in jail, could provide a point to help begin the healing. Clue was not that lucky. It took her seven year old self telling her mother about the repeated abuse to have anything change, but because the offender was the son of a friend of the family, all that happened was he no longer watched her and her sister, and her family moved, putting a little space between them. Having to relive it again years later when, as a young woman, she was faced with not just her abuser, but the two friends who were in the room and his siblings. Right after the arrest and delivering the little girl to the hospital for testing and treatment, Clue had received a call from home and had gone rushing back.
Arriving just in time to learn that her father was dying from a very aggressive cancer. The case had taken her away from home for three weeks, so by the time she got home again, he was confined to a bed, and for the most part didn’t know who she was. Patient controlled morphine pump on board, in a bed brought in for him by hospice care, in his bedroom at home. In a flicker of hope, he reached for her hand. Gripping his in hers, she found all the words flowing in her head were caught in her throat. Pressing their hands to her cheek, she passed the words to him silently because she just couldn’t get them out. 4 hours later, he gasped for his last breaths, trying desperately to live, when his entire body had shut down. The sound alone haunts her still. The look on his face even more so. His eyes trying to convey what his body couldn’t; that he wanted to live, that he didn’t want to go, but couldn’t fight anymore. She thought, and still thinks there was a sparkle of love left in there as well. Then, he took his last racking, rattling breathe, and his spirit was sent home. In one day she had relived the horrors from her youth, and lost the one man who had fought for her and loved her without condition.
Mac knew Clue didn’t love easily. He knew that the sounds he was hearing from her betrayed the ache in her heart for her partner. And he suspected that Clue had fallen head over heels for him.
Squeezing in through the gap in the door, Mac sits in a chair, watching Clue.
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Post by The Fixer on Apr 10, 2016 20:18:48 GMT -5
Through watery eyes, she looks up at him, from the floor. Sniffling, and not caring about her tear stained face, in a quiet, shaky voice she looks at Mac, “I don’t know how to do this, Mac. I don’t know if I can do this. I can’t breathe…”
Mac, knowing the panic attack is very nearly full blown, hauls Clue off the floor and down the hall to the gym. The only thing that will help with the panic is a punching bag, and he isn’t willing to be it today. Walking to a bench across the room, he turns around because what happens next pulls hard at his heart.
Thankful for Mac knowing what to do to handle the next phase, she pounds on the bag, screaming, crying, and mercilessly emptying the ache in her heart into bag. A fresh wave of tears flood again, on a flash memory of the first time she heard Lawrence laugh.
Finally empty, hands smarting from the pummeling of the bag that is meant for the abuse, and a headache blooming behind her eyes, she sits down. Breathing hard, she looks over at Mac, who is peeking over his shoulder having heard everything stop.
“It’s ok Mac, I’m done.”
Mac walks back over, sits down beside her and pats her leg.
“You need to listen to the General again. Maybe there is something in what he tells you that can help. I know...”, he says looking at her. “I know this is different. I can see this is different. I’ll help you in any way I can. This is on you now. And like it or not, you have to finish this.”
Clue nods her head, looking down at her hands, new tears hitting the floor beneath. Wiping them away, in a tiny, sad voice, she tells Mac to give her 4 hours to herself, and arrange another meeting with General Allenby.
Walking together back to her room, Mac hands her the Tylenol, she’ll need to fight the headache, and rubs her arm. “Get some sleep, I’ll get it arranged and see you in a while.”
Her body and mind exhausted, she pops a couple of Tylenol, grabs a pillow and blanket, turns out the lights, closes the blinds and curls up on the little couch in the room. Too tired to cry anymore, she drops like a stone into sleep for the next three hours. As she is coming back out of deep sleep, she dreams of Lawrence. The laughter in his eyes, the pure smile on his face, the music on the air. She wakes on the sadness of knowing her dreams are the only place she’ll ever see him, tears spilling again.
Shuffling to the shower, Clue lets the water wash over her. Working to push things down into the depths of her mind, so she can focus on the unfinished job still ahead, she takes a moment to pray. Thankful for the time they had together, hoping he died swiftly, without suffering, and taking out as many Vevoda Agents as he could.
Speaking out loud, she says “Lawrence, if you can hear me, know I love you. Thank you for getting me out that day I killed that agent. Thank you for doing the one thing I needed from you more than anything else – the night in the Inn, when you held me and didn’t ask about that dream. That night you touched a part of my soul I thought long dead. Find my father while you are up there. I want him to meet the man I love.”
Crossing herself, she shuts the water off, and busies herself with drying off, dressing, and making her way to the Boardroom to find Mac and the General.
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Post by The Fixer on Apr 12, 2016 12:44:26 GMT -5
Gathering herself, she heads for the Boardroom. Arriving to a closed door and voices, she waits a little to try to hear the conversation. Voices too low to make out anything, she taps lightly at the door. Mac tells her to enter and she does, walking to the opposite end of the table from the two men. Wanting the space as a physical buffer to help her mentally through having to listen to the information General Allenby will be providing, she steels herself to it.
The General looks at Mac with obvious displeasure. Mac, understanding Clue, nods to the General so he can begin the debrief again. As the General continues, Clue stands to pace a little, listening and chewing on the inside of her cheek. Without missing a beat, Mac fires a pad of paper and a pen down to the other end of the table. Catching it on the slide, Clue starts writing. Little things at first, as her mind works to piece it all together.
20 minutes later, Clue raises a finger to stop the General. She’s finally sat a little closer to the men and has been making notes since General Allenby started talking. Mac knows the finger raise is going to be followed by a question or two, “Hang on General. Clue, what is it?”
“General Allenby, you knew what he was planning but didn’t move anyone else in to help out? Did you know what that plant was being used for? You’d been close enough to have heard something in the chatter, I suspect…” Without waiting for responses, she points back for the General to keep going. Flustered and prostrating a little, the General looks to Mac again for some sort of apology at the interruption and line of questioning. Mac gives him a little shrug and encourages him to keep going.
Clue continues writing. Understanding now that although she’s making notes, what she’s seeking won’t be in the note itself, but the lines they create for her to tug on. The fact that the General clearly didn’t like her line of questions so far has given her additional thoughts that there is more there to tug on. As the General gets to the part about the room collapsing on the place where Lawrence should have been, she chews on her tongue and blinks away the tears that well and threaten to spill. She will not let this General Allenby character see them fall. She won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart for Lawrence, or playing into his already stuffy and pompous breeding of her being “just a skirt.”
The General final finishes his recount.
“General, have you been to the site yourself?” asks Clue. A little red-faced, “No, however, I’ve sent a team that I trust to site to determine if any further clean up is required. I do not like the implications you are making” he retorts, rather standoffish.
“All I’m suggesting, General, is that the information you are providing is actually third party, and not first hand. While I am positive you have good people working on the site, you yourself haven’t found the time to get there even for Lawrence. There appear to be gaps, either in what has been relayed to you, or what you have chosen to tell me. Some of those gaps, I am not entirely sure your people can even fill in.”
The General turns to Mac with a look of both chagrin and appreciation. He stands and walks over to Clue, pulling an envelope from his breast pocket.
“The warnings were just in your conduct and cleverness, madam. This was sent to me by Lawrence himself, and arrived in my office after the plant fell. On his instructions, I am to deliver this to you.”
Taking the envelope from the General, she looks at it a moment before asking, “What other instructions were you left, General?”
Nodding to her, the General turns to Mac “we will be in touch.” Leaving the room in silence, Clue looks pointedly at Mac.
“Something, I said?”
Mac can’t help but laugh a little. Anticipating Clue he says quietly, “I can’t let you go there, you know that. It’s volatile, and no place for civilians.”
“Mac. We can go a round or two on this, you telling me all the reasons why I can’t go, shouldn’t go, won’t be cleared to go. Or, you can get the General, your new friend, to clear the way and provide the escort. You know what the alternative is, and you know why I have to go. Something is wrong. There are too many holes in the relay to me. And if, like he said, it is believed that the building collapsed on him before the fire hit the space, then where is the body? You already knew that once I was cleared I was on my way to Europe to chase down a few of these leads. Why is it a stretch to think I wouldn’t be going to Baghdad to get answers?”
“The General won’t clear it Clue. I knew when I saw you earlier what you would do. I already tried. He is adamant that you not be cleared for it and the red tap he threatened us with is more hassle than it’s worth.” Mac shakes his head. “I think he has a bee in his bonnet over your conduct with him.”
Clue nods her head and smirks a bit. “You did warn him didn’t you? I’m not military and I do not stroke already over inflated egos. I am sure he has earned the stars. I guess I could have been a little more tactful. Mac, he hasn’t been to ground zero though. Some of these holes are big enough to drive a tank through! “ Thinking more, she looks at Mac and quietly, without realizing she has spoken aloud “that may be why he is upset. Maybe he realized while retelling it that there are holes that his people have not answered, or chose to keep from him too.”
“Maybe this is one time you could swallow some of the Big Girl attitude of yours and figure out how to mollify this?” Mac, knowing he will probably have a projectile launched in his direction, flinches when it doesn’t come. Looking at her, he sees that look that reminds him of a cat trying desperately to throw the canary back up unharmed.
Hanging her head and closing her eyes she mumbles to Mac to set the next visit up, on his turf. Chewing on a canary himself, he leaves Clue in the boardroom.
Despising the fact that she now has to placate the General to get him to help with getting her to Baghdad, she picks up the envelope and looks at her name scrawled across it.
Picking up her notes and the envelop, she heads back to her room to think.
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Post by The Fixer on Apr 13, 2016 21:08:24 GMT -5
A bad taste in her mouth about potentially having to eat crow with the General, she wanders back to her room, dropping the envelope and her new notes on the bed. Mind muddling through how best to handle the General, she decides to wander the halls of the centre. Without paying attention to her surroundings much, she realizes she’s right in front of the firing range. Checking in with the Range Master, she elects to blow off some steam with a bit of target practice.
After the practice she heads back to her room. Exhausted from the day, she settles in bed, tucking the notes in a draw and setting the envelope on the stand. Closing her eyes, she rests.
Waking from haunting dreams, Clue turns a side lamp on. The dead of night has fallen, revealing a sky full of stars seen through the window. Moonlight casts strange shadows, the stuff of imaginative picture shows. Knowing sleep will be fleeting now, and not wanting to fill her head with Vevoda, she opens the envelope the General passed her. Unsure of why she stops, laying both the envelope and unopened letter on the stand, Clue walks to the wardrobe in the corner. Opening it, she pulls out a sweater intending to comfort herself by wearing it. Having not seen it before, she wonders as to its appearance, until the bottle contained within nearly falls to the floor. Catching it, though barely, she chuckles knowing now the sweater and bottle it contained are a gift from Mac. The sweater is oversized the way she likes it. And long in both arm and body, making it look like a baggy dress. A conversation with Mac comes back to her mind, wherein she described the way she liked to end a case or mourn a friend; Baggy sweater, shorts, barefoot, and with a bottle of Fromentot, watching the stars. Finding a glass tucked at the back of the shelf, with a corkscrew, she sets to opening the wine bottle.
Pouring a glass, she walks to the couch, picking up the letter on the way. Shoving the couch around to face the window, she braces her back against the arm, feet up, knees bent, sipping the wine, letter in hand. Taking the first sip, she looks out at the moonlight off the mountains beyond. Peaceful and mind empty for the moment, she sets the glass down on the floor beside the couch to hold the letter.
Opening it, she reads:
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Post by W.R. Lawrence on Apr 14, 2016 9:55:36 GMT -5
My Dearest Clue,
If you are receiving this then I have fallen in the line of duty. While I am sad to have died before having seen you again know that I go to my death with you on my mind. Do you remember the day we danced in the square in London? The sky was clear and blue, the sun shown down warmly upon us. You asked me to dance and I laughed not sure if you were serious. Then I stood to my feet and we danced for that short while. Do you remember how it felt? I remember like it was yesterday. The shine of the sun off your hair, the smell of your perfume and how your sapphire eyes sparkled in the light. It was during that time that I fell in love with you, Clue. I knew from that moment that I loved you and until my final breath I loved you still.
Writing this I realized I have some regrets to settle. The first was that I never told you how much I loved you. I hope what I have written here can convey that in even the slightest amount.
The second is that I left you while you were unconscious and didn’t get to explain why or say goodbye. I knew that Vevoda’s agents would eventually find us. With you so badly injured I wanted to ensure you had the time to safely heal. So I left to keep the agents busy and gather as much intel as I could for you to decipher when you were stronger. I have no doubt you will find Vevoda and you will stop him. My loss is but a small part in all of this. If my mission was successful Allenby should have a copy of the server upload I am going to attempt. I hope the information recovered will be enough. As you push forward to complete the mission do not allow it to change who you are. You have a light in you the world needs. Do not let it be snuffed out seeking revenge. Remember this old Arab Proverb: “Beware when you fight monsters to not become one of them.” The Third regret is that I have to break my promise to you. I promised that I would give you a thousand kisses before I was through and sadly I was unable to complete this. I can remember each one, from our first one on your hand in the square, to the hillside at Cloud’s Hill, to the one I gave you the day I left. I know I was a rough man when we met. I ask that you remember me as I was that day on the hillside. Happy, content and madly in love with you.
One last thing to settle before I go. In the whirlwind that was our time together I never even told you my first name. For so long I have been called Lawrence by others that I nearly forgot it myself. So I want to give it to you as my parting gift that you might know me as fully as you can. I was born Willard Randolph Lawrence. While that sounds kind of stuffy, I would hope you would remember me not as Lawrence, but simply as Will.
Goodbye my love. Push forward and finish the job. I’ll look in on you from time to time.
I am and will forever remain most affectionately yours,
Will
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Post by The Fixer on Apr 14, 2016 21:54:31 GMT -5
Realizing that she is reading something from Lawrence, her eyes well with tears. The tears silently spill over and she takes a moment to remember that morning in the square at the bakery - the smells, the quaint little town, the morning sunlight, how debonair Lawrence looked in his new clothes and cap, the music floating in on the air, and the look on his face when she asked him to dance. She sees the sun glint in his eyes and remembers the feel of his arms around her.
Smiling through the tears at the memory and then crying a little harder at his professed love, she nods her head at the words and mouths them back to the page. Closing her eyes, she rests her head on her knees, hugging them a little and wishing she could see Lawrence…Will…once more.
Wiping away the tears with the cuffs of the sweater, she takes a sip from her wine to bolster herself a little. The man she loves is dead, and he won’t ever know. Resigning herself to this fact, she drains the glass. Wiping more tears away, she sits cross-legged to re-read the middle section again. Keying on the part that Allenby may be holding something more valuable than he let on, a steel vault door shuts on her heart. Allenby has a very interesting way of valuing what appears to be a trusting relationship between Will and himself. Shaking her head, she feathers her fingers across her lips as the memory of the beginning of the thousand kisses returns.
Finishing the letter again, tears still silently falling, she traces the words “Goodbye my love” with her fingertip. Repeating the gesture over Will’s full name, she folds the letter, holding it to her heart. It is both filled with love and breaking from it at the same time. He left to save her and let her heal, and now he is gone, taking down a Vevoda plant with him and never knowing she loved him back.
The stars blink out slowly, one by one, as if waving goodbye to her. As if on cue, the sun breaks over the horizon, spilling first light across her cheek through the window, feeling like a quiet hand reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Yawning, she stands, walking back to the stand for the envelope, tucking the letter away.
Standing before the wardrobe, she realizes that someone has stocked it with a few pieces of clothing in her size. Silently thanking Mac for looking out for her, she chooses a pair of slacks, white t-shirt, olive green blazer and sturdy boots for her meeting with General Allenby.
The emotions of the last day and a bit have left her empty, numb and sorrowful yet loved. Knowing Mac would have brought the emergency kit of her most basic feminine requirements she insisted he kept for just such an occasion, she finds it in the bathroom. Digging into it to retrieve the small pots to help make her feel better and hide the lack of sleep and crying from the last day or so, she pulls out what appears to be a compact. A scary bag for most men, she can be nearly 99% certain that Mac would have been too scared of the kit to have looked past the strategically placed “male kryptonite” she insisted be always packed on top. The compact, to any normal person, contained a rouge for her cheeks. With the flick of her thumbnail, a compartment under the rouge opened up, revealing something she may need for her meeting with the General. Slipping it into the pocket of her blazer, she finishes preparing herself. Taking a moment to look at herself in the mirror, she speaks to the reflection, thinking of Will: “Will, I love you too. More than even I knew. I told you I had your back. Now I’m going to see who else does. I need your help with Allenby. Something is off, and I don’t know what…” Kissing her hand and pointing to the sky, she leaves the bathroom to pick up the envelope with its letter and tuck it into the inside pocket of the blazer.
Grabbing a few other things from the wardrobe, and filing away that she needs to send Mac a bottle of the vodka he likes, she opens the door and heads out, in search of Mac.
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Post by The Fixer on Apr 17, 2016 21:25:09 GMT -5
Finding Mac, looking a little grim, in the lounge area from the other day, she sits down next to him.
“Where is the General?”, she says to him. “Against my better judgment, we are heading to meet the General at the British Embassy in Washington D.C. He appears to want to make sure you understand your place.”
“Ugh. I was afraid of that.”, Clue says, reaching into her pocket to touch the item there. “When are we leaving?”
Mac, looking even more grim, replies “Actually tomorrow. The General left right after your last meeting to handle business that has arisen. It feels sudden, almost rushed, but I think you put a bee in his bonnet about something and he left. He was very reluctant to even entertain another thought of having to see you again. Don’t burn this bridge Clue. I’m afraid I won’t be able to fix it.”
Patting Mac on the shoulder as she stands to pace and think, she says, “Mac, this one isn’t for you to fix. It’s on me. Hopefully the General is checking into things with that plant and Lawr...Wi…”. Taking a deep breath, she has a mental battle over what name to use. “…Lawrence’s death. And, he’s going to make me sweat a little by making me come to him - home court advantage, sort of thing. Sometimes I am my own worst enemy I suppose. Mac, I’m sorry. I know I make things hard on you. Can you call Ian for me, and work on a Plan B, in case I can’t appease the General enough to help us get me over there?”
Nodding, Mac rises, rubs her arm a little and heads out to handle the Plan B. Understanding exactly what favour Clue has asked him to call in, and the reason she isn’t doing it herself. Mentally reviewing a few items that he wants lay out himself, he leaves Clue staring out the window at the mountains.
Returning to her room, she quickly changes into yoga capri and T-shirt, she grabs her ballet shoes and heads to the gym, intent on working on the finer muscles of her legs. Flicking the switch on the sound system in the room, she walks to the centre, taking first position. The slow notes from the piano can be heard, Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven, fill the room. She begins her slow warm-up, the only other sound, her slippered foot brushing the floor. Her teacher slips into the room to watch her in the wall of mirrors, as she moves through the positions. Moving to the barre, he silently provides correction or aid to stretch through her hips through the Ronde de Jambe en l’air, or to correct leg positions from Fouette. As the music works through Chopin’s Prelude to Mozart’s Eine Kliene, Nachtmusik, Clue continues her barre work, preferring it to centre floor.
Wrapping her session 2 hours later, with a series of deep stretches, utilizing the barre and the aid of her teacher, ensuring the muscles are sufficiently elongated, Clue takes a moment to simply sit and enjoy Bolero, by Ravel. Using the tempo to work through some foot stretches, she can’t help but smile as she recalls a particularly wonderful visit to the Symphony and the comedic antics of the orchestra and the solo drummer. Her teacher having slipped out again after the stretching was done, leaves Clue with the room to herself, a great piece of music playing. Unable to help herself, she begins conducting the air and moving, her feet working in rise, though not en pointe, with the music. Enjoying the build, the addition of the various instrument sections, the swinging solo from the trombone, Clue collapses, laughing, to the floor.
Slipping her ballet shoes off, she pads back to her room, intent on a shower and then digging into the information again.
She spends the remainder of the day with her notes, looking over the recount of what happened to Will, and trying to make sense of everything. Vevoda is elusive, but it looks like there may be shadows running through the intel. A few faces keep cropping up in photos, though each is labeled with a different name. Aliases, perhaps? Twins or triplets maybe? She has mapped out repeat sightings in tiny towns. But has no idea, yet, what any of this could mean, if there is anything here. The files just don’t have enough in them to fill in the questions that are mounting for her. Getting back into the field is the only thing that can help her puzzle through this. First, though, a meeting with the General will determine whether she will do it the easy way, or the hard way. Getting to Baghdad will help her get started. Seeing the place where Will died for herself, she’ll be able to begin filing it away until the case is done. Or it may produce some unanswered questions for her.
Hours later, having packed the few items she has into one bag, she decides to take a rare opportunity to get some sleep. Slipping into bed, she pulls out the letter to read it again. Falling asleep, curled around the memory Will’s smile, she sleeps deeply.
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