>THE SAFEHOUSE
>0112HRS...///

Around midnight Dr Laine changed into a pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt with the words [I]The Exploited[/I] emblazoned in red across her chest. Her Doc Marten's laced up past her ankles and she rolled her jeans to just rest against the tops of the boots. She packed a backpack with an extra set of clothes and her notebook and camera. Laine took two extra magazines for her 9mm which she tucked into her shoulder holster and tossed on her old leather jacket. 
 
Her stomach twisted with sudden nerves, and she took a deep breath, reminding herself it was just a clean up operation. Just making sure nothing important fell into the wrong hands. Documents. Information. Maybe about murders and strange stones and voices from the void. Shouldering the bag, she looked around once more, the nerves starting to settle as she picked up the keys to one of the rentals.

[I] There shouldn't be trouble, it's just a matter of forensics and cleaning up. Nothing that dangerous. Right?[/I]

Dr Laine stepped into the front room, twirling the keys into her palm, then glanced around for the lead man. 

"Donnelly?"

The front door opened to reveal Donnelley stepping inside, only half his body visible from behind the door as he took in one long drag from his cigarette. Clad in a plain black shirt, a pullover hoodie, jeans and Vans, he didn’t much look like the shadowy CIA man Tom had pegged him for earlier. The Thrasher cap put him even farther afield of that. Behind him, the sound of a car running. He flicked the cigarette outside, sighting Laine. “Nice shirt.” He smirked, then looked around, “You’re driving the Chrysler with me. Where the fuck’s Gomez?"

"Had my hardcore phase," Laine replied, brushing her short hair behind her ear with a slight smile. She looked him over, trying not to linger on the burn scar or the deep eyes. At his question she glanced back at the room the two women shared then shrugged. "I'll wait in the car."

“Tell me about it.” Donnelley chuckled as Laine walked past him. “I’ll just wait here. Make sure everybody’s on schedule!”

He raised his voice good and loud, but still that bit jovial. Like a father to his children on the first day of school, hoping to rouse the team awake. Before his prodding could come to fruition, he produced his flask, taking a long pull from it and stashing it back in his pocket.

Serena heard Donnelley beckoning from the front room as she was coming down the hallway, her boots pounded against the plank-wood flooring. She had changed into some relaxed fit jeans, a plain t-shirt, and a black Carhart hoodie. She pulled a dark ball cap down tight against the edge of her brow as she rounded the corner.

“Right here boss.” she said as she passed him in the front room, not stopping on her way out the door. “You got shotty boss.. age before beauty and all that noise.”

Serena made her way out to the passenger side of the car and pulled her Beretta from her back, and slid back her slide to check and make sure she had some brass in the chamber, then returned it, pulling her hoodie back into place. She opened the door and entered the vehicle. She acknowledged Dr. Laine as she did.

“Nice ride.” she said while taking a seat, half a smirk held by a bit lip.

Laine was hooking up the piece of shit mp3 player that had to replace her phone for now, at least she had been able to put a few playlists on it. She glanced up as Serena slid into the car, looking at her in the rear view mirror. 

"Thanks, it's not mine," she replied before hitting play. Whoever had driven the Chrysler last had not turned down the stereo and [url=https://youtu.be/Fsbvo5GVK10]a sudden clash of drums[/url] and squealing guitar filled the vehicle, spilling out into the darkness of the yard. 

Laine winced, reaching to turn it down a bit. Hell of a start. Real situational awareness on her part. Glancing up at the mirror she just mouthed the word, "Oops."

Serena snickered a bit, pulling a pack of [i]Juicy Fruit[/i] from her hoodie pocket.  Antsy. She still wasn’t one hundred percent certain that they weren’t riding out to some shallow grave somewhere, plastic sheeting laid neatly in rows on the forest floor out in the middle of nowhere. Five years on the gang unit had made trusting people hard for her. She pulled a piece of gum from the rather large pack and unwrapped it, throwing the stick in her mouth. [i]Going to be one hell of a ride[/i], Serena was certain.  A sweet smell loomed about the cab of the Chrysler. She looked in the rear view to Dr. Laine, hoping to catch her eye. “Gum?” 

Laine did catch the other woman's eyes in the mirror and the smell of the banana yellow wrapped gum brought her immediately back to being a kid, skating on the boardwalk and she grinned. "Thanks, normally I only chew sugar free but..."

She turned and plucked a piece of gum from Gomez's hand, "Living dangerously now, right?"

“That’s what my mother keeps telling me.” Serena replied, returning the pack of gum to her hoodie pocket.

The passenger door opened and Donnelley grunted as he plopped himself down in the seat, the suspension rocking with his entrance. He noted the music. “Sorry, I drove this thing here. Got a V8 too.” He smiled.

He sighed, push-checking his .40 cal. If anything, he was glad the South was no stranger to people carrying guns. It was as American as apple pie and big Pharma. While they waited, Donnelley produced a GPS from the glovebox, sticking the suction cup on the windshield and inputting the directions to Charleston. Not that there were many needed. Once you got on the highway it was pretty much a straight shot into town. “Looks like everyone’s where they’re supposed to be now,” Donnelley peered behind them as the last straggler shut the door of the Explorer behind them. “Let’s go.”

The Chrysler lurched forward and they turned onto the dirt road that led to the main one. Once they got enough speed on their descent from the mountains, Donnelley spoke again. “I’m sure you two have a lot of questions.” He said, looking out the window and watching the trees and hills pass them by. “I’ll answer the ones I can.”

Serena’s back pressed firm against the back seat. “How ‘bout something useful, for starters?”  She had heard this sort of empty rhetoric before. “Not much on briefings around here, huh..?”.  She turned  and glared out the back before returning her attention to her company up in the front seats.

Laine kept her focus on the road, navigating the hills as fast as she dared but she listened above the din of Black Flag and Cro Mags, turning it down enough to talk. 

"Specific questions might be better," she said. Many questions raced through her mind but the one that nagged her the most was also the ridiculous one she feared to ask. After a moment she asked it anyway, "Is this about the stone?"

The doctor flicked her gaze to the man next to her, hoping to catch his initial reaction. 

“Well, I would’ve been more [i]specific[/i], but I didn’t feel like asking what some suits and spooks, a park ranger, a head doctor,  a cop, and some soldier boys were doing playing commando at a gangbang all the way out here in [i]Nowheresfuckingville[/i] was gonna get me very far.” she snipped. She was clearly agitated from being kept in the dark for so long. Serena didn’t like it.  “What’s this shit about a stone?”

A spike of anxiety shot through Donnelley at the mention of a stone. It was in her case files. She’d seen it too. A lot of them had. “Due time.” Donnelley pursed his lips, “Let’s keep our eyes forward.”

“We’ve all got shit in our dossiers. Blacked out portions of things we only know. Things nobody wanted us to.” Donnelley snorted, fishing his pack of cigarettes from his hoodie pocket, biting one and pulling it free. “Either of you mind?”

Moving her gaze back to the black river of asphalt stretching before them and shook her head, her bobbed dark hair swishing against the seat, “I don’t mind if Gomez doesn’t, I’ll crack the windows.” 

Tapping the button on the console the passenger window slid down half way. Glancing at the rear view mirror, trying to catch Gomez’s eye, Laine continued, “About the stone, I’m going to hold you do that, Mr. Donnelley. Now, if you can’t answer the blacked out portion right now, I have another. This man we are cleaning up after, he was one of [i]you[/i]. How did he die?” 

Serena waved them off. “It’s fine, I only smoke when I drink and I didn’t bring anything..  which I am starting to regret a little bit.”. She watched as the trees that were lit as they passed by them in a blur as they pushed on down the highway.

Donnelley nodded at the both of them, rolling his window up slightly so the spark could catch on the lighter. He puffed twice and rolled the window back down. He sighed, “Not everything has to be a classified top secret operation we’re cleaning up after.” He chuckled a bit, scratching at his forehead, “The guy was old as hell. Cardiac arrest. We keep tabs on everybody who gets let in.”

“You two. Them back there in the Ford.” Donnelley nodded and smirked, taking a drag and speaking through the harsh cloud that came after, “Even me. Even Foster. From the day we come in from the cold to the day we croak. One day some asshole is going to have to come clean up after me. The people who decide where Foster goes, where I go, these decisions are made in places I’ve never been by people I’ve never seen.”

“You want to last, you want to fight the good fight? Don’t dig too deep. The enemy wants you to.” Donnelley said, matter-of-factly, not pretending that he would be making sense to either of them until their blindfolds had been lifted, so to speak.

“That’s unfortunate,” Laine replied dryly, “Digging is what I do.” 

“Tell me about it..” Serena said in accordance. “What else is a cop supposed to do?” Her tone coming of a bit more lax, having found some comfort in sharing a bit of common ground.

She turned over what he had said, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in time to the next brief angry song that played at an inappropriately low level. “If we can’t dig, if we can’t find meaning in...what this enemy is...and I am assuming it is a deadly enemy if it’s so hush-hush. I’m an analyst, she’s SWAT.  You need something figured out and you need something dead, that’s for certain. Just who is it? Terrorists, mafia, narcos? No, that’s not it.” 

Her green eyes flashed behind her glasses but her voice remained smoke soft and even, “This is something no one is meant to know, everything is top secret about this. Donnelley, give us something. You’re taking us in blind. What documents are we looking for? What would he have in his own home that is so dangerous it needs to be destroyed.” 

“You gotta give us something [i]Boss[/i], Doc is right on this one. We got shit.  I just traveled 2,400 miles because I was instructed to over a phone call with a complete stranger, who also coincidentally told me to lose my identification.. A little bit of clarity would go a long way.” Serena firmly agreed with the doctor on this.  How were they ever going to work as a unit she thought to herself.  Her unit wouldn't have handled it like this.  This shit was deep, [i]really deep[/i]., Whatever [i]it[/i] was.

“You ever hear about those crazy fucking Nazi scientists and SS fuckers running around Europe and Asia and the Mid East?” Donnelley said, blowing smoke out the window as he shook his head in frustration. “Ask the flyboy back there in the Ford about the Office of Special Intelligence. Gomez, ask yourself what the fuck was going on when you crashed that party with SWAT.”

He turned to Laine, “Ask yourself what the fuck that black slab in the middle of the forest you saw was.” He sniffed something into his face and spat it out the window, “I used to ask myself those things every day until I was given the answer. It’s the only war that matters. The truth’s a privilege, ladies, earn it.”

"I have been asking that since..." she paused, her mind flashing to the night under the pier and the ripple in the dark. 'Since we pulled that girl's body or what was left of it off that stone. I've been over the coroner's report and the statements of the victim's friends and family, the witness statements of the Park Ranger that found her. Who, incidentally, won't take our calls now. I tried to go back to examine the scene, and was told in so many words to kindly fuck off."

She took a deep breath, looking over briefly at Donnelly, "It's that damn stone. You can feel ... something."

Saying it out loud made it seem ridiculous, like something from the X Files. "I'm back to the stone. But I'm still working on this case, trying to build a profile of the killer. Sofie Childress was butchered and I'm not going to let it just get swept away under a black ops carpet."

Serena was stone silent, slumping ever deeper into the back seat, and in her mind. She could feel the Latin potena fleeting from her face being replaced by a sheet of alabaster. A sinking feeling in her gut. The doctor’s words faded like headlamps on a distant foggy highway. It was all rushing back in. [i]That smell.. that awful wretched smell[/i], came flooding back into her nostrils. She hadn’t mentioned it since it had happened. It couldn’t be.. [i]could it?[/i]

“Are you referring to 2018? The Asian bangers’ place?” Serena was baffled, that had taken place nearly a year prior and she hadn’t mentioned it since. Her entire unit shied away from speaking about it, in any context.  

“Do you think I am?” Donnelley said over his shoulder, turning back around and taking another drag, flicking ash out the window, “Like I said. Eyes peeled, ears open.”

...///

    0100 was a long time off, too long for Jason to wrestle with an unanswered curiosity spinning day dreams in his head. At first being busy was the answer, the necessity of unpacking keeping his hands busy. Even then his mind coursed with questions and the hollow conjecture that attempted to answer them. His gear was packeted in unlabeled black pelican cases, one clearly housing a rifle by its telltale shape, but the others were an assortment of gear seemingly meant for field operations. A laptop, weapon accessories, a field satellite for classified data, even a [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tWh-ri5-WrQ]BATDOK[/url] ready cell phone.

“Why the fuck would I need all of this?” Jason muttered. The agency had inundated him, a nobody field operative, with the very finest; right down to the latest in Pararescue loadouts. Ready for war. It was piece to the puzzle, but one that hardly revealed the composite picture. Jason rifled through his personal gear next, cautious to avoid exposing his cache of substances, and in the absence of tasks his mind began to uncomfortably dilate. The demographic of their team, the purposeful lack of information, the innocuous first mission. Jason knew there was a connection beyond any of their knowledge bases, but he was impatient and his curiosity near insistent. The remainder of evening was for him one spent in silence and an unsettling solitude, though he tried his best to project a warmth if he ran into any of the other team members.

When it was about time he holstered his HK45, pocketed a spare clip, and donned a pair of blue jeans, black boots, and a black and grey flannel button down. Someone outside was yelling, "Come on boys, daylight's not burning but it will be soon!" and he followed the call.

*****

In the interim, waiting for the time they would roll Laurie didn't really seek anyone out. He wasn't particularly sleepy and regardless he had much on his mind. So he went to the only thing he knew, his Bible. He almost got through Luke when it was time. He loaded his Nineteen-Eleven, secured his knife, a few spare magazines and Taser before he stepped outside with a few stretches. He dressed plainly in grey khakis and a grey sweater with a black baseball cap and necker chief. Laurie was the guy who knew for sure he wouldn't be caught on tape, he didn't want to embarrass all his friends by being found working with these yankee suits after all! 

So instead he went over to lean on his assigned car all cowboy like with one foot on the ground and the other against the wheel while looking vaguely down on the ground. "Come on boys, daylight's not burning but it will be soon!" he called out, Laurie waiting for the other men to get in before following. 

Tom noticed how most of the other had nondescript clothing on. He decided to do the same. He preferred the trousers and boots. They were comfortable and suited his needs. He put on a plain grey T-shirt, with a shoulder holster over it and then a gray windbreaker over the shirt. He picked up his SIG, hit the thumb release on the magazine catch pulling it out. Then he pulled back on the slide. The chamber was empty. He reinserted the magazine leaving the chamber empty. He would load it if he needed it. Finally, he holstered the pistol under his left arm and placed two spare magazines in the pockets on the shoulder holster. He insured he was wearing his Leatherman on the back of his belt and strapped a Gerber Mark II survival knife around his ankle, tucked into his boot and under his trousers. Finally, he pulled the navy blue baseball cap with the red letter “B” emblazoned across the front onto his head.

As he headed down the stairs, he pulled a fine brown cigar in an aluminum tube out of a drawer. He found the Park Ranger from Louisiana leaning up against the Ford Explorer they were going to take. It may have been the same vehicle he rode in to get here from the airport. “Hey kid, got a light?” Tom asked as he approached Laurie. He pulled the cigar from the tube. Tom bit the end of the cigar off and shoved it into his mouth. He tossed the tube aside.

Looking up from his stance Laurie nodded, going to his left-hand pocket before realizing it was in another, and retrieved a matchbox. He struck one as the man approached and held it out for his counterpart to light his cigar on. The moment the cigar caught flame the Park Ranger pulled the match back to blow out and dropped it on the ground to stomp out. “Forest fires, nasty shit.” He stated, shrugging as it might have been seen as excessive measures. “Baseball fan?” came the followup, a question by definition rhetorical. But why not make small talk, eh?

“Thanks,” Tom muttered as he drew the smoke into his lungs. He took a few more puffs and looked at the taller man, “yea, I’m a Sox fan.” He stood next to Laurie, smoking on the cigar.

"Yeah? My family were always a football bunch. Dad said I was a good batter but that was a load of bull, he wanted me to explore sports or something." The Ranger realized too late he probably had lead to a conversational dead end, but tried to fix that. "Looks like there's four of us, all like Sardines in this car. You're driving, right cowboy?" 

Tom laughed. He had never been referred to as a cowboy before. That would be a Texas thing, hardly a nickname for a Northerner. “Oh yea, I’m a Pats fan too. But I remember when they sucked; worst team in the AFC east along with the Baltimore Colts. Lot of young people flock to the Pats because they are all about the double yous since the beginning of the century. It wasn’t all that wonderful years ago.”

"Damn." Laurie offered, spitting out a bit of his dip. "I remember hearing something like that at my first ranger station. Football has a lot of politics of its own but baseball seems to have politics like one of them shows on Tee-Vee soccer moms watch with wine. My first Superintendent loved to talk about them all, who was trading to who, I knew enough from him to just about pretend to get it when I crashed in New England for a bit. Baseball popular with the soldier-boys?" the Louisiana guy asked at last, realizing again his little affliction made him ramble on too long. 

Jason came out the front door and approached the two as he overheard the conversation. [i]Damn[/i], he thought. He hated sports conversations and never had enough to say in them. This was especially true for baseball, the sport he found to be the most uninteresting. Another missed bonding topic, as per the course. Anything atomic or all-American was a connection lost between Jason and whoever he was working with. 

“Only the dopey ones,” he answered, his inflection as sarcastic as he could manage. “I assume you two have the front seats?”

Jason glanced at the other car mounting up, and without waiting for either Tom or Laurie to answer he sat in the driver-side passenger seat.

Justin was the last out. He’d traded his t-shirt for a nice button-up with sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a zip-up fleece was thrown over one shoulder. He wore another set of Wranglers, some tac-shoes, and a different unmarked cap, this one olive green. He made for the only open passenger seat without protest, silently going through the little go-bag he’d packed. Had a box of 9x19, a couple bottles of water, hygiene supplies, an MRE, some protein snacks, and a carton of Pall Mall Reds for emergencies. These were all in plain view of the others in the vehicle as Justin went through his mental checklist.

“Right, I’m good, let’s get this fuckin’ thing on the road.”

The four men took their seats in the Ford Explorer. Tom followed the Chrysler to their objective. The ride to the Lemonbrook apartments in Charleston was pretty quiet. No one spoke. Tom puffed away on the stogie with his window open. He never even considered if the others cared if he smoked or not. It was not a thought he would have had. This [i]situation[/i], working with these men whom he is just meeting caused a flood of memories about his time in the Corps. His mindset fell back into those ways. He was a Marine again, rather than a Special Agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigations. It was a role he was comfortable with, but not on US soil. It almost felt contrary to everything he had done for the past five years, but he kept his options open.

He thought about Jill and the way they left things that night at dinner. He wished he could talk to her. He also needed to call Lieutenant Colonel Norman Miller at the armory in Worcester. He had to let him know what he was doing; or at least as much as he could say. Their next meeting was in a week and a half. These thoughts still weighed on his mind, but he could still function as a Marine or an SSA, depending on the situation. Hell, he could perform the duties of an attorney if called upon to do so. Yea, Tom was a Yankee Suit, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself.

About a mile from their objective rally point (ORP), the cigar was tossed from the window. It had diminished to a point where he felt it served its purpose. The four men were alert watching their side or corner of the moving vehicle; someone keeping an eye on the rear. Tom occasionally, looked in the rearview mirror or side mirrors to see if anyone was following them. It was late at night; the streets were deserted. He was surprised to see no local police patrols on the road either. Normally, a small city like this would have several patrols visible. Most law enforcement officers who work between the hours of midnight and zero five believe there are only two types of people they encounter; victims and assholes. He knew that if a police patrol encountered this crew of seven, he would not consider them to be victims.

[hr]

>CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
>OUTSIDE THE LEMONBROOK APARTMENTS
>0242HRS…///

Finally, some civilization. In America, no less. How many years had it been since he spent more than a week, a month stateside? When the car slowed to a stop and parked on the curb across the street from Lemonbrook, Donnelley closed his eyes as he stepped out of the Chrysler, inhaling all the American air he could. Even White Tree, even Blackriver didn’t feel like America. It felt like some slice of another world someone had carefully laid over what was supposed to be, long ago. But, as he opened his eyes and looked around, there it was. American civilization in all its prideful, calloused handed dirt and grime. The streets in this part of town were anything but clean, but the gloom of it all, the streetlights making bastions of orange light in the blues and blacks of the morning... There wasn’t even the tinge of diesel or the sound of blasting charges in the distance. Nor even the oppressing aura of the unnatural, the unknown. The cars, just honking. A police siren in the distance. A cool breeze over his face.

And somewhere in Charleston was a barstool with his name on it. But this assignment came first. He owed it to Clyde Baughman, one of the proud few to step back from fieldwork and get that coveted position as an advisor. Donnelley couldn’t see that for himself. Not until they won. He turned his head at the sound of brakes, the black Ford Explorer coming to a halt just behind them, headlights making him squint. Donnelley waved all of them over to him.

As they all came together like one big happy family, Donnelley looked all of them over. Satisfied, he nodded, “Alright. Over there in that building is Clyde Baughman’s former residence. We’re not expecting anybody else to come calling for Clyde, so Tom, Justin? Post up in the lobby and ping me on my phone if you hear anybody asking about Baughman.”

“Serena, Laurie, if anybody does, make a fuss about something. Anything, get creative.” Donnelley nodded to Jason and Laine, “You two are with me, we go up to Clyde’s, do a search. Take anything with us that’d raise eyebrows.”

Donnelley cast a glance towards the apartment building, that little resting smile on his lips. In a way, it felt good to be back to work. At least when Foster wasn’t breathing down his neck. “Questions?”

Dr Laine glanced at Jason Jimenez, her gaze running along his broad form, taking in his expression and the way he held himself. At their initial meeting, he had been tense and guarded, not unexpected in their situation but there was something else. Maybe the look in his eyes, a flicker of emptiness lost in memory. She had seen it before, in victims of violence. And in those who committed violence, at least those still left with a scrap of conscious. 

Turning to Donnelley, she said, “Just the apartment number, lead the way.” 

Jason was scanning the streets as Donnelley briefed the team, the heavy humidity a welcome southernly embrace. It reminded him of the stuffy nights of inner city Houston when the only relief from the heat was sleep. He didn't catch Dr. Laine's observation until it was a fleeting turn away from him, but just enough for him to notice. A tumult of anticipation, hunger, and nervousness racked his gut. [I]Surely she isn't interested, it wasn't anything[/I], he thought. The impending revelations inside were a welcome distraction from the aimless desire spurred from nothing but a glance. [I] Just the mission, nothing but the mission Jason. Please[/I], he pleaded to himself. 

Serena’s thoughts of the previous conversation melted away  as Donnelley began briefing the team.  This was much more vernacular to what she was accustomed to.  She retrieved the Beretta from her back and checked it a second time. It felt like home now, Serena was all about the [i]pre-game[/i].  She nodded towards Donnelley and then at Laurie. 

“Good shit Boss, waitin on [i]GO[/i].” she said, returning her sidearm to it’s holster.

Temperate, Laurie likewise was excited to at least move his legs a bit, and so tapped his forelock in a quasi salute. “On it.” he said, walking over to Serena and letting her lead the way for now.

“Alright.” Donnelley nodded, “Let’s go.”

With that, he walked towards the apartment building, looking both ways as he stepped out into the street. Wouldn’t do if all of a sudden they had to deal with their team lead flattened by some asshole. He nodded to an old man walking his dog, a golden retriever. The old man nodded back, offering that smile that wasn’t, the one reserved for people on the street you’d never see again. Just as Joseph reached out to pull the doors to the lobby open, he heard the old man speak at him. “Huh?” Donnelley asked.

“Said, you folk lookin’ for Clyde?” The man smiled.

Donnelley smiled back, almost having to remind himself that this wasn’t Turkey or Chechnya or some other backwater and it was okay for people to make small talk… but how did he know Clyde?

“Friend of his?”

“I was about to ask you the same.” The man chuckled, bending down to pat his old retriever on the head. “You friends? Family?”

“Yeah, friends.” Donnelley nodded, making like he wasn’t racing circles in his mind. “We came to get Clyde’s things in order. Better go.”

“Shame about Clyde. Take care!” The old man held up a hand, “Oh, do tell his son that I offer my condolences. Should be here in a little bit, I think.”

“I will.” Donnelley pulled the door open and he stepped inside, his two trainees behind him all the way.

[hr]

[hider=FRESH, STEAMY ROLLS OF SUBTERFUGE-]
Donnelley= Literally a fucking 5
Laurie= wow, a 20
Dr. Laine= An 8
Jason= 1 its the drugs
Serena= 14
Tom= 11
Justin= 22! i am your god

Group Total= 12[/hider]