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Shadow Arts / Log Four
Posted By: monitor101<wasup1989@hotmail.com>
Date: 27 April 2007, 1:43 am
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A. D. 2551, 5 November, 2100 hours / Demetrius Granitsky's mansion, NYC, Earth
Crist froze for a second. He hadn't seen the man in nearly a decade, and here he was, standing in the same room as him. He quelled the brief feeling of apprehension and ducked into the crowd, putting distance between General Lenox and himself, but his eyes never strayed from the man. The general didn't much look different. He was still stocky with broad shoulders and a wide waist that gave off a large, somewhat intimidating appearance. The only noticeable change was his hair, the once jet black crew cut now had streaks of silver and had visibly thinned at the crown. Right now the general was mingling with a small group of Arab dignitaries dressed in black robes and white headdresses.
Crist slowly maneuvered through the crowd along the outer edge of the room, avoiding the dancers who occupied the middle. He came out of the sea of people on the other side by the staircase. There were no cords or signs prohibiting access to the upper floors, in fact, much to Crist's delight, there was a sign with an arrow pointing upwards and the word bathroom spelled out in five different languages. A perfect excuse if he got caught wandering. He quickly darted up the steps and came to a long hallway, its walls painted red and hung with the very ugliest in modern art. There were several doors, more than he wanted to count. Looming at the end of the hallway was a set of large double doors that Crist could only imagine led to the bedroom.
Jackson's voice crackled over the sub vocal in his ear. "Okay, the satellite is in position; we have you on thermal now."
"Where I am going, there's got to be fifteen doors down this hallway?" he asked, walking slowly as two people went past, going towards the stairs.
"Do you see the bathrooms?"
In the middle of the hallway another sign pointed to the bathrooms.
"I see them," he said. "Do I want to go through the large doors at the end?"
"No, no, take the door just before the first bathroom, the women's room I believe."
"Is there anyone near who I should be worried about?"
A pause. Then Jackson's voice crackled back. "No one near you. All the security seems to be relaxed on the top floors, probably because all the doors are locked up there."
Crist came to the door and waited.
"Hold on, the techie is hacking into the mainframe…wait…okay you should have access," Jackson said.
The door emitted a faint click and Crist slipped into a dark room. Closing the door quietly, he looked around. The room was a fitness center replete with barbells, dumbbells, rowing machines, a line of treadmills, stationary bikes, and mirrors for walls, but no computer console anywhere.
"Where the hell am I?" Crist whispered.
Jackson's voice came back, "all the rooms are connected. Go to the door on your right. It leads to a study where his computer is."
Crist found his way to the door and entered a study. In the back on a large mahogany desk sat Granitsky's computer. He wasted no time and quickly went to it and booted it up. It was a typical console: a keyboard, holographic screen display, and the CPU. The computer whirred to life and a user domain and password popped onto the holographic image.
He hesitated for a second. He was not very tech savvy. "Where do I connect the AI?"
"There's an AI port next to the computer. Right. In. Front. Of. You."
Crist mumbled a four lettered word under his breath, produced the intrusion AI's datachip, and connected it. The screen instantly went to the desktop, then to a window displaying a list of several files, but they were blocked by a circular wall of blue, crystalline, hexagonal shapes, the visual representation for a firewall. A small pinpoint of red light appeared, small at first, but it quickly grew in size and brilliance until it had engulfed all of the firewall. It faded, each of the hexagons shifted from blue to red and shattered. The files were there, exposed and free to access. The red light was now the arrow shaped cursor. It systematically went through each one of the files.
"The AI is working its magic, quite fast I might add. What happens now?" Crist asked.
"This AI isn't technically an AI, its simply designed as an intruder. All that data is too much for it to hold, so it's copying it all and sending it to us."
The cursor fell onto the last file, it was immediately copied it and sent off. The computer screen logged off and went dark. Crist pulled the AI chip out and got up.
"Its done. Did you get everything?"
"Everything," Jackson replied. Crist was about to go for the door when Jackson's shrill voice came through the earpiece. He was yelling at someone in the background. "What do you mean you lost the feed? Get it back!"
"I'm trying," came a faint reply from somewhere in the background.
"Richard, we lost the satellite feed, we don't have you on screen anymore. Get out of there before someone comes," Jackson said, breathing heavily after yelling at the man.
Crist didn't respond, the door to the hallway began to click as someone unlocked it. A man in a tuxedo with an earpiece coil snaking down his neck and into his shirt opened the door and took one step in. The lights flickered on and he instantly saw Crist. They locked eyes for a split second, the man momentarily stunned or confused at the sight of someone standing in a dark room. Crist however didn't hesitate for a moment; he quickly drew the silenced Five-Seven and put two rounds into the man's chest. The security guard fell through the doorway and into the hallway. A loud scream from by the bathrooms filled the room. Crist ran out of the room, stepped over the body, and down the hallway. As he did he almost chuckled at the near precise timing of the satellite feed's failure and the security guard's entry. Was it coincidence…or planned, he would think about it later. Right now circumstances did not allow for thought.
Two more security guards were already up the stairs and going towards the body. They didn't notice Crist, he walked right past them. He dared a look back. The guards went to the body, one called for backup while the other went into the room.
He was nearly to the stairs when the woman who had screamed pointed to Crist and yelled, "There! That's him! The shooter!"
"Shit," Crist silently muttered. He spun around. Both security guards were in the hallway now, standing over the body and drawing their sidearms. The woman, anticipating a firefight, had cowered back into the woman's bathroom and for this Crist was thankful as he again pulled out the Five-Seven and hammered on two rounds, one for each of their shoulders, there was no need to kill anyone else. Both men fell and Crist ran.
"Slight change in plans," Crist said while running. "Meet me in the front!"
"What's going on?" he heard Jackson say but he didn't have time to answer.
Right before he barreled down the steps he pulled a fire alarm. Sirens blared and the overhead sprinklers spat out streams of water. Crist bolted into the main hall where the party was taking place. The throng of guests were screaming and rushing towards the doors like a stampeding herd, trying to escape the rain. Crist joined them and got lost in the crowd as security details and a small emergency crew burst in and began fanning out.
The throng of people was packed tight and moved slowly, when Crist finally got outside he took the side of the stairwells and glided down the steps, leaving wet footprints as he went. The surveillance van sped up and screeched to a stop, its tires smoking. The sliding door slammed open and Jackson stuck his head out.
"What the hell is going on?" he screamed.
"No time to explain," Crist said, jumping into the van.
Jackson gave him some room and threw the door closed. The driver stepped on it and the van screeched out of the driveway. In no time they were out of the neighborhood and on the New Jersey turnpike, headed for Manhattan. Tonight traffic was light; the van weaved around other vehicles at a furious pace.
The interior was crammed with surveillance equipment, two techs, Jackson, and now Crist, making no room for comfort. Crist intertwined his legs into an uncomfortable crisscross applesauce position and looked at Jackson, the man's face twisted with anger.
"What the fuck was that!" he spat.
"You tell me, why did the feed suddenly go flatline? Why did a security guard enter almost immediately after? Why didn't you see the guard's heat signature as he came down the hallway? Surly you would have seen him just before you lost the feed!" Crist spat back.
There was an unsettling beat. Jackson's looked down at the ground, darted his eyes about and then said, "Why'd you kill them?"
"Him, why did I kill him I think is what you meant to say. I only killed one guard, the other two I wounded," Crist replied, bracing himself as the driver took their exit and slammed on the brakes, coming to the bumper to bumper congestion of people trying to get into Manhattan.
"Lenox was at that party. Pray to god he's not at your meeting."
2200 hours / UNSC building, NYC
Crist burst into General Treftz' large office to see the old general reclined on his couch with Lieutenant General Ackley sitting across from him. They looked up.
"Richard, please sit," Treftz said, his voice devoid of any emotion.
Crist walked over to the square sitting area and dropped into a chair directly opposite Treftz. The old man was sunken in the couch, looking far too small for it. A tired look spread out over his wrinkled face.
"We've heard what happened," Treftz said quietly. He swirled a few fingers of liquor in a tumbler he held and brought it to his lips.
Crist didn't respond at first. This was unlike Treftz. Usually he welcomed people first, started a conversation at his desk, mellowing the guest out with idle talk, and then he rotated their position to his sitting area and then slowly delved into what was on his mind. He was never straight to the point.
"News travels fast," Crist said.
"As do many things, its amazing how fast a mission can go from smooth to shit in so little time, no matter how thoroughly you plan," Treftz sipped down the remaining liquor.
"But," Ackley said, "at least the mission was completed."
Treftz nodded. "Indeed, do you still have the datachip?"
Crist fished the AI chip out of his pocket and placed it on the glass table. Treftz plucked it up and set his tumbler on the table.
"What a marvelous little piece of technology," he said, examining it. "But a shame it could not do more." With little effort he crunched the datachip with his fist.
Crist almost jumped up. "What're you doing?"
Treftz dropped the fragmented chip on the table. "No need to panic, it served its purpose," he said nonchalantly.
Crist settled back into his seat. Treftz stood up, snagging his tumbler off the table, and went to his bar.
"Tell me exactly what happened," Treftz said while opening a decanter of brandy and pouring a few centimeters of it into his glass and taking his seat again on the couch.
Crist began to speak but was interrupted by a ringing. Ackley got up and went over to the general's large desk. She picked up his small cell phone.
"You have a call from a Mr. Brown," she said.
Treftz sighed and shook his head, then looked at Crist. "What do you say we go for a late night dinner? Somewhere with no interruptions" Before Crist could answer Treftz finished off his brandy and was already headed for the door.
2230 hours / Kina Lillet
Thirty minutes later Crist and Treftz were seated in a private booth at the general's favorite restaurant, Kina Lillet, an upper crust joint just a stone's throw from One Wall Street, making it a popular destination for stock brokers and lawyers in the hours after the market closed down.
Treftz was a common face in the restaurant, as well as a big tipper, he was greeted and treated like a king. Tonight he was famished and had plans for a fully rounded meal. First came the apèritif, Treftz a gin Negroni cocktail, and Crist a Stinger brandy with crème de menthe.
Treftz sipped his drink and leaned back into his chair. "Now that we are settled and can expect no interruptions, please retell what happened."
In no time Crist retold every little detail of what had happened at Granitsky's party. Treftz listened intently.
"So you didn't kill all of them?"
"No," Crist replied," just one. The other two I wounded."
"A shame you didn't."
"I'm sorry?" Crist said, surprised.
Treftz sighed. "I said it is a shame you did not kill the other two. Even if they were only doing their job, they still saw you. This could complicate things. If word spreads that we brought you back, there's no telling how bad things will get stirred up. I'm very disappointed things went the way they did, but I understand the mission came first. You did what you had to do. "
"Indeed," Crist muttered, taking a sizeable gulp of his Stinger. "Now, what about damage control. Granitsky is surly to have some type of surveillance system in his house. I don't want a photo of me to pop up on the six o'clock news."
"Actually an external CCTV system, you were picked up entering the party, but, no worries, its been taken care of," Treftz casually replied.
Crist nearly spit out his drink. "Damn, how do you know all this."
The chairman of the Security Council smiled. "You can thank Mr. Jackson and his team of specialists later."
The hors d'oeuvres came and went. They both drained their cocktails and Treftz ordered them a bottle of Tiffon cognac to go along with their main courses. Treftz bit into his rack of lamb the instant it hit the table, but Crist, not feeling hungry, hardly touched his steak. Treftz noticed.
"What's wrong?" he said, biting into a shank cut of lamb. "You've barely touched your food."
"Nothing, I'm just not feeling hungry, I think I'll turn in for the night," Crist said. He pulled out a few hundred dollar bills he had been given earlier and placed them on the table. "Thanks for dinner," he said, getting up.
"Hold on, let me call my limo."
"No need, I think I'll walk tonight."
"I don't know which part of keeping a low profile you do not understand," Treftz said, rising out of his chair and standing in front of him.
"Stop me then," Crist said. He placed his hands on the old man's shoulders and moved him out of the way and went for the door.
Hotel Splendide was literally on the other side of the island and Crist had no energy to walk across Manhattan. Having a few dollars left, he took the subway to Times Square and went to his hotel only a block and a half away. Once in his room he immediately collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep.
6 November, 2400 hours / UNSC building, NYC
Deep within the confines of the United Nations Space Command building, past the pressrooms and podiums, behind layers of impenetrable security, UNSC's top AI's worked day and night to keep humanity going.
One such was Pegasus. He normally carried out an array of more important tasks, but tonight he got stuck serving as a sifter of information, but it was something he used to. The AI's function was to analyze thousands of forms of information. Information collected from spies all across UNSC space. The information pertained to humans, small splinter groups and factions breaking away from the UNSC as the war with the Covenant escalated. The Covenant and information, if there was one thing Pegasus was glad for, it was not having to go through intelligence gathered on the Covenant, his poor counterparts over at ONI had the unfortunate deed of spending nearly eighty five percent of their operational lives going through such data, that was all they were designed for. He only had to spend less that ten percent carrying out tasks such as this one.
Pegasus sifted through all the data, sorting the important stuff from the non-important, and sending it off to intel officers at ONI or any other acronymic organization. It was all the same old same old; a splinter group on Jericho III fled the system and joined another group in exile, a small community threatened recession.
Pegasus was nearly done when something popped up labeled TOP SECRET. Curious, no file ever contained these words since all the data was thrown together and ninety percent of it was junk. He opened the file and read it. It talked about a special investigation on the Quentin Chantillis massacre. The AI paused for a moment, remembering the great leader, and then resumed processing the rest of the file. It was vague, offering little information about the investigation, but a name stuck out, Richard Crist. Pegasus swore he had heard the name before, but could not remember where. He put a reminder to look it up on his to do list and began sifting the information gathered by the investigation. This time the name Granitsky popped up. What he heard underneath it made him equivalently gasp.
To Be Continued…
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