'A Good Story...Pt 2'
ST. PETERBURG
The enjoyment on the face of McKenas Cole is tangible, as he weighs up the reaction to what he has just told his subordinate Julian Sark. As he took another shot of the seemingly inexhaustible supply of champagne that exists at the luxurious Covenant base, the former SD-6 freelancer watches as Sark assimilates the information. Cole recognised the reaction in Sark when he mentioned the woman’s name. He’d felt it before once. It was, unmistakably, love.
“You were working with Lauren Reed?…” Sark asks, almost in a disbelieving tone. “For the United States government?…”
“Uncle Sam, himself.” replies Cole, noticing that the champagne bottle he’s drinking is halfway empty. He knew he had one hell of a tolerance for strong drink and it was a skill he often exploited. He didn’t have to really know Sark all that well to detect he wasn’t a heavy drinker. Just the occasional glass of Chambertin Clos de Beze, on special occasions.
Sark is trying to regroup after the surprise he’s just been delivered. “So, what happened next?. You tracked down ‘Nightingale’?…”
“We set off to meet someone who could lead us to ‘Nightingale’,” Cole corrects the younger man. “Someone you and I were both familiar with in what now seems like the oh-so-distant past.”
The impeccably manicured young Sark waits with interest as Cole takes a beat before responding, letting the identity of the person he was referring to hang in the air. He enjoyed having the power between the two of them. He liked keeping Julian dangling. He liked knowing more than the man who thought he knew more.
“Willard DeMarais.” Cole finally revealed. He was delighted when he got the concerned reaction he expected from Sark upon hearing that long-unheard name.
NSC JET, 20,000 MILES ABOVE THE [A]TLANTIC
ONE YEAR EARLIER
“Willard DeMarais?…”
The name that Lauren Reed had just questioned rolled around first her tongue, and then her mind. She wouldn’t have admitted it, but Cole knew that she was trying and failing to identify the name she had just been told by him. He saw that Lauren didn’t want to lose face in front of him, look like she hadn’t done all her extensive research to prepare her for this assignment. Cole could see she was greener than green and if it were a woman any less attractive, he wouldn’t have been nearly as forgiving of her.
“I take it you’re familiar with the name?…” enquired Cole, somewhat teasingly.
Lauren nodded hastily, looking through her notes. “Of course.”
The search through the notes in the set of joint CIA / NSC files Lauren had with her seemed like an eternity for McKenas, who would be the first to admit he often had lapses in concentration when disinterested. He knew that in moments he could give the beautiful young agent more info on DeMarais than any CIA file would relinquish, but he knew she had to prove her ‘efficiency’ first. Cole instead busied himself with observing his comfortable surroundings inside the private transport jet flying at altitude over the Atlantic ocean. As he sat on the light brown leather chairs and sipped warm coffee as a cool air conditioned breeze wafted over him, Cole felt as though he was in the lap of luxury. It had been too long a time since he’d felt anything close to this content.
He suddenly reminded himself he had a gruesome job to do for these privileges and put his concentration back on track, as he saw Lauren finally begin to give up the goose.
“The files here don’t seem to cover any Willard DeMarais in any significant detail,” Lauren admitted, trying to retain her dignity and control over the conversation. “Perhaps you could fill in the gaps.”
“Pleasure, baby.” Cole said with a very slimy grin as he finished his coffee. A slightly repulsed expression cast over Lauren’s professionally stern face.
“DeMarais is a freelance mercenary, Franco-Russian by descent.” began Cole, noticing Lauren starting to furiously inscribe onto paper the details he provides, which he couldn’t help find slightly amusing. “From what I heard, he used to be a fixer for the KGB in the last days of the chilly conflict, after which he decided to set up shop on his own. You went to him if you wanted advanced ordinance, strike teams, you know the deal. He was the go-to man if you wanted something doing, mostly in France.”
Lauren continued writing as she asked her question. “And when did the two of you become affiliated?…”
“A couple of years before the CIA captured me. My employer was having some trouble with an insider who was planning to sell secrets to the Alliance of Twelve. I was sent to Nice in order to present DeMarais with an offer. Eliminate the threat, and be made for life.” Cole said, pouring himself another coffee in the process. “DeMarais was in a precarious position. He faced danger on two fronts. If he took the offer, he’d risk invoking the wrath of the Alliance, who he often did business with. If he refused, he turned on the man I worked for, someone he considered a friend. So, he said yes. He dealt with the problem and became one of the front-men alongside myself for my employer, Alexander Khasinau.”
“You mean Irina Derevko?…” probed Lauren. The name immediately sent bristles down the neck of Cole. Even thinking about probably the deadliest woman he ever met disturbed even him. And he no longer had much of a high opinion of her anyway, not since she left him to rot with the CIA and hooked up with them herself. It was a betrayal he couldn’t forget.
“Whatever.” Cole replied, nonchalantly, trying not to let his disdain for the aforementioned woman show. “He knew that by going up against Christophe and his boys, he’d have to pitch camp elsewhere. He moved his base of operations to Paris and he’s been there ever since. I very much doubt the collapse of Khasinau’s organisation has left Willard out in the cold. He’s very resourceful.”
Lauren nodded professionally, taking in all the information. “And exactly how will DeMarais lead us to ‘Nightingale’?…”
“Let’s just say that both of us, Willard and I, had heard the person in that photo was still on the block.” Cole admitted, sipping his coffee calmly. “The difference between us is I’ve been locked up as a guest of the NSC for the last year. DeMarais is more likely to know where 'Nightingale' is right now than little old me."
Noting down all the information she’s received, Lauren gets up from the table and nods at the released prisoner. “I’ll tell the pilot to inform Charles de Gaulle airport we’ll be landing within the next twelve hours. Once we reach Paris, we’ll co-ordinate with DGSE to track down DeMarais’ location and pay him a visit. I suggest you get some rest before we land.”
Lauren made towards the cockpit area as Cole watched her while drinking, but he suddenly spoke in his typically loud way.
“You know?…”
Hearing the noise, Lauren stopped and looked back at McKenas, seeing he was on the verge of asking a question.
“…my little old brain has been ticking over ever since Bob Lindsay came up with this offer, and a couple of the numbers just don’t add up, pretty little lady…” he said.
An intrigued look passed over Lauren’s face as Cole spoke. “What do you mean?…”
“Well, if the NSC are looking for ‘Nightingale’, and they came to me, they must know I once knew protocols on how to contact the person,” Cole began, a suspicion audible in his tone as he thought of things. “And if they know that, then they know DeMarais has the same protocols, and that he could help them track ‘Nightingale’ down in a flash.”
“Would you mind telling me what you’re getting at, Mr. Cole?…” Lauren asked, though failed to betray concealing a look that stated she already knew the answer to her own question.
“Of course, doll, it’d be a pleasure,” replied Cole in his typically patronising, sexist way. “What I’m getting at, is if Lindsay knew DeMarais could lead him to ‘Nightingale’…why would he come to me first?…”
Lauren tried to suggest his tone was indicative of paranoia. “Because he knew you had a relationship with DeMarais, he was a former associate. He’s much more likely to help you than the US government.”
Cole chuckled slightly at this. “Oh, come on now, Lauren, baby, we both know that those Star-Spangled Banner-lovin’ boys back at old Camp Williams have ways of making people talk that extends further than a simple, polite request…the Inferno Protocol, anyone?…”
“Perhaps.” replied Lauren, still trying not to look like she knows more than she’s letting on. “But I suggest any questions or suspicions you have about your role in this mission you take up with Director Lindsay when we return to the United States. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to jeopardise your immunity agreement over a simple case of baseless paranoia…”
Cole nodded, smiling and raising his coffee cup towards Lauren as she turns her back and heads for the cockpit. “Sure thing, baby. I’ll take it up with Bob, don’t you worry…”
After clearing the main seating area of the jet, Lauren was shielded by a curtain from the seats and had respite in a small area preceeding the cockpit designed, primarily, to hold an emergency escape hatch if an accident were to occur. She let out a slight breath of relief after the tense questioning and proceeded to pull out her mobile phone, dialling a pre-set number and waiting a moment, tapping her fingers against the wall almost nervously as she held on.
“Dispatch.” a voice sounded on the opposite end.
“This is Lauren Reed, badge number #22809. Patch me through to Director Lindsay.”
“One moment.”
A momentary pause lingered, until Lauren heard a familiar voice.
“Lindsay.”
“It’s Lauren, we’re in the air. Everything is proceeding as planned.”
“Does he suspect anything?…” Lindsay asked.
“As much as we anticipated. No more.” admitted Lauren. “But, he’s not stupid. If we don’t move quickly, he may realise what’s going on.”
“Then move quickly.” replied Lindsay, matter-of-factly. “Once you reach Paris, let me know when DeMarais gives you the location.”
“Yes, sir. I will.” said Lauren, who cut the call and headed into the cockpit.
--
In an extremely plush US governmental office, Robert Lindsay places the phone down on the receiver, a phone lying on a shiny oakwood desk which has been kept efficiently neat and tidy. He is sitting on the opposite side of the desk, facing someone else. He is a guest. This office belongs to someone senior to him.
“Is he taking the bait?…” a vaguely familiar male voice asked.
Lindsay nodded. “For now. Let’s just hope our agent plays their part well.”
No response comes from Lindsay’s superior. The two men are obviously unsure about what will happen next.
PARS
The bar in the southern corner of the capital city was a haven for those the more civilized members of Parisian society would class, at best, as rogues. It was a traditional, American-style pool bar, filled with large, extremely well-worn pool tables, a long bar with a row of mostly vacant stools and numerous slot machines that the patrons were sinking their money into with regularity. The door opened quite suddenly and it was as if every single head in the bar turned, the mostly French drinkers not used to new arrivals in a bar that was notoriously avoided. So when Cole and Lauren casually entered, they weren’t exactly warmly welcomed.
Leading the way, Cole began to approach the bar after a moment of pausing at the door with Lauren. He surveyed her expression, noting that she wasn’t really all that keen on being here. That made him smile. Considering the hell-holes he’d visited in the past, Grozny in particular, a pool bar filled with DeMarais’ hustlers was a walk in a very clement park. Cole couldn’t help look back into the faces of all the burly ruffians who glanced at him like something they’d scrape off their shoe. Cole saw that Lauren was uncomfortable, fearing he’d provoke the hustlers surrounding them. That made him smile even more.
Finally, at the bar, Cole went to address the Barman. “Hey there, how ya doin’, we’re-‘
“-we’re looking for a man we believe often shows up here,” interrupted Lauren, attempting to remain in control of the investigation. “Willard DeMarais?. Do you know of him?…”
Lauren slid a photograph of DeMarais onto the bar after removing it from a slimline folder she carried, as Cole tried to suppress a smile over her laughable attempts to keep him under control.
The Barman viewed the photograph for a moment. He spoke in a thick French accent. “Yes. He’s been expecting you.”
On that, the Barman in a flash removed a shotgun from under the counter, and cocked it. Cole and Lauren both immediately saw pretty much all the other seven hustlers in the bar pull out automatic weapons from their leather jackets and trouser pockets, aiming them at the US government investigators, who had nowhere to run. Lauren looked confused to see Cole chuckling.
“Come on out, Willard,” shouted Cole. “I know only you could give me such a warm welcome!…”
The curtain behind the bar opened suddenly and Willard DeMarais appeared. A tall, discreetly muscular man with a Gallic bullishness mixed with a Slavic enigma, he stepped forward around the bar towards where the cornered duo stood, his shoulder-length, pomy-tailed brown hair swaying as he approached. The entire bar was silent, everyone waiting to see what he would do. DeMarais had a very cold, almost angry look on his face as he came face to face with Cole.
“McKenas Cole.” he said, without any trace of respect or disbelief. DeMarais nodded, turned around and shouted. “Kill him.”
The look Lauren gave DeMarais before all hell broke loose was one that, if summed up in words, would be: ‘What the hell are you doing?.’. It was one of confused surprise, like she had expected this moment to go a certain way and DeMarais was reneging on it. A second after the look, Lauren took action as the hustlers and the Barman all prepared to fire, on orders from Cole.
“Get down.” he shouted, as he quickly grabbed the Barman’s shotgun and pushed it up into the air as a shot fired, impacting the ceiling. Cole, in a flash, grabbed the gun from the Barman’s grasp and used the end to impact his face, the Barman crashing back unconscious. Cole turned and dived behind the bar as a barrage of gunfire came in from the hustlers, watched by DeMarais as he stood aside, looking over at Lauren who remained crouched by the side of the bar. He saw she wasn’t actually afraid of what was going on, more irritated. Inconvenieced. DeMarais soon looked back at the more interesting pair of the two.
Cole landed hard behind the bar, face first. Glass began cascading onto him from the bottles above as gunfire aimed at him smashed them. As the first round of gunfire stopped, Cole jerked up and placed the shotgun on the bar as he fired at the nearest hustler, the impact blowing him off his feet and crashing into the wall dead. Cole took the opportunity to stand up quickly and shoot two more of the hustlers in quick succession before they had a chance to reload their weapons. He jumped over the bar and in the motion kicked one of the hustlers in the face, he spiralling onto the floor unconscious from the impact. Cole landed on his feet and instantly used the shotgun to smack another hustler unconscious in the face in front of him, at which point he recocked the shotgun and pointed it at the last two hustlers.
“Make my day, punks.” He quipped, seeing the hustlers were afraid of him and looked unsure as they held their guns on him. They looked at DeMarais, who shook his head. The hustlers lowered their guns and retreated to seats, at which point Cole lowered his and, realising the action was over, Lauren emerged from her cover space.
Both of them saw a much more genial DeMarais approach them. “Same old McKenas, I see. A talent for destruction.” he said, a grin forming on his face as he instinctively man-hugged Cole.
“I’m disappointed, Willard, “ Cole started. “I expected a much better crop to test my wits. My granny in Rodonda Beach could dropkick every one of those pussies.”
DeMarais laughed. “My apologies. Next time I’ll be sure to let my finest at you.” he said, now glancing at Lauren. “And this is?…”
“Lauren Reed,” she replied, matter-of-factly, looking somewhat annoyed with the man. “I work for the National Security Council. We need to ask you a few questions, Mr. DeMarais. Is there somewhere we could talk?…”
DeMarais motioned towards the curtain. “This way, my dear, please…”
With a hard expression, Lauren led the way through the curtain into the private rear bar areas. Cole approached DeMarais as he went to follow.
“Charming woman.” DeMarais quipped, sarcastically.
“You have no idea. “ Cole replied, equally so. He made his way through the curtain, as DeMarais watched those luminaries who hadn’t been killed, start to rise with sore heads.
“Get this place cleaned up.” he ordered, himself retiring behind the curtain.
--
Behind the curtain was opulence. Well, as much opulence as could be afforded the managerial room of a rather dingy Parisian pool-bar. No desk existed within the office-room, but the curtain gave way to numerous leather chairs surrounded by small coffee tables that led powerful laptops powered up ready for use. DeMarais sat comfortably on one of the leather sofas, as did Cole next to him. Lauren, though, remained standing, holding a professional rigidity about her.
“So, you want to ask me some questions, huh?…” DeMarais asked, directing his question at Lauren, as he began pouring both he and his old friend McKenas a shot of whiskey.
Lauren nodded. “Yes, and we’d appreciate your full co-operation in our inve--“
“I don’t know where she is.” DeMarais stated, matter of factly, as he interrupted. Cole instantly knew to whom he was referring, though it seemed to take Lauren a few seconds more to realise.
“I presume that’s why you’re here?…” he said, almost registering a look of surprise when looking at Cole, he realised his instinct may actually have been wrong.
“If you’re referring to Irina Derevko, finding her isn’t the reason we’re here.” Lauren admitted.
“We’re looking for this shadow.” announced Cole, as he drew from his pocket the NSC photo of their prey and handed it to DeMarais, who unfolded it and observed the contents. “Codenamed by the NSC as ‘Nightingale’. Enigmatic, ain’t it?…”
DeMarais looked very surprised at whoever it was he was staring at, and slightly bemused. “Well, it certainly fits. I didn’t think this person was still…on the radar…so to speak.”
Cole gave him a look as if to say ‘Me, neither’, which DeMarais registered. “What are you looking for…’Nightingale’…for?…”
“The details of the NSC’s motives in this matter are not your concern, Mr. DeMarais,” Lauren icily announced. “We just want to know if you’ve had any recent contact with the person in the photo.”
DeMarais glanced at McKenas, who sat back very laconic, as interested in his answers as the blonde beauty he’d been partnered with by his new NSC masters.
“I’m afraid not,” replied DeMarais, at which point Cole registered a momentary flash of surprise and concern on Lauren’s face, almost as if she had expected a different response. He noted it, but decided to say nothing as his old friend continued. “But, there was someone ‘Nightingale’ was corresponding with in the last few years before his death, someone both McKenas and I knew rather well.”
Cole nodded, realising who he meant. “Khasinau?…” DeMarais nodded confirmation, Cole looking a little surprised. “Well, now, Alex, you kept that one quiet.”
“Where did this correspondance take place?.” Lauren asked, trying to keep the answers on track.
“Largely over cyber-space, ‘Nightingale’ doesn’t come out of the rabbit hole often, as well we all know.” DeMarais said. “They did meet several times, however, at one of Khasinau’s strongholds. I know for a fact that Khasinau kept a file on ‘Nightingale’ stored there. What the file contained, I don’t know, but it might help you find who you’re looking for.”
“And where was this ‘stronghold’?” Lauren asked, excited to be on the verge of answers. It was at that point Cole couldn’t help but be surprised at the response of his old friend.
“A secure vault, kept underneath a club here in Paris that Khasinau owned, a club that has now fallen into disrepair. The vault, however, should still be intact.”
What surprised McKenas was not so much the speed with which Willard had answered, but that he’d answered at all. Cole had spent a great deal of time with this men before being detailed at the US government’s pleasure. They had been two of Alexander Khasinau’s chief lieutenants in the global criminal organisation he ran for Derevko. They had fought together, almost died together. Cole respected the man’s abilities, recognised within him that they shared the same determination to survive against the odds. And he knew that the man before him would rather shoot himself between the eyes than hand the US on a platter someone who potentially could be one of the biggest fishes any organisation, CIA or otherwise, would ever get the opportunity to catch. Cole knew that something wasn’t right here. He suspected the NSC, Lauren, were holding out on him. But he also knew that finding ‘Nightingale’ could potentially answer so much, about so many things. Potentially about everything Khasinau had tempted him into helping him find, truths which could forever change the world. And McKenas knew he was too canny a player to give up now. He would see this through, and deal with anyone who thought they could betray him later.
As Lauren made a note of what she’d just been told, Cole downed the shot of whiskey he’d been supplied, let out a noise equating to a growl as the strong liquid went down, and vaulted out of his seat.
“Then, what we waiting for, huh?…let’s go get us a file…”
KHAINAU’S CLUB,
PARIS
The interior of the classically-designed club was a shadow of it’s former self. The beautiful, golden, almost gothic architecture had begun to decay without regular maintenance. Bottles of long out-of-date alcohol remained strewn behind the bar, while the tables were covered in layers of dust and cobwebs after having not been cleaned in an age. The sad decline of this formerly beautiful establishment was fully observed by Cole and Lauren as they entered the main heart of the club, trailed by a team of six NSC armed field agents dressed from head to toe in combat gear, ready to meet any resistance that may be apparent. Cole had been here once, just after Khasinau had recruited him. He remembered being impressed by the grandeur of the place, the scope. It was at that point he realised that Khasinau himself employed similar scope in his work & McKenas knew the impression was a major factor in agreeing to work for him. He couldn’t help but be disappointed at what he now saw.
“Spread out,” Lauren ordered to the NSC team. “Cover all points of entry, keep an eye out for any resistance. Derevko may still be protecting whatever’s in the vault, so stay alert.”
On the orders, the NSC field agents began moving out across the club, addressing each other over radio mics as they adopted their positions and started searching the premises. Cole, though, barely noticed the movement. His mind had reverted to someone who hadn’t entered his mind for quite some time. He was thinking of ‘Pigtails’. Before he and Lauren had left the bar, DeMarais had explained that he was dining at the club on the night it was attacked by agents working for SD-6, just over a year earlier. One had been a strong, black, American man in his late-forties. The other was a beautiful young woman in her late-twenties, with red hair, disguised as a French nightclub singer. Willard also said she kicked serious arse. Cole knew it could only be ‘Pigtails’. Or Sydney Bristow, as he now knew her. Derevko’s estranged daughter, who had foiled his attack on SD-6, who had led to his imprisonment, sent him down the road that put him where he was now. A double-agent, until recently. And despite all this, Cole still felt amazing respect and attraction for her. He still missed ‘Pigtails’.
“According to DeMarais,” started Lauren, addressing him. “The vault can be accessed via a hidden staircase behind Khasinau’s old office. If the codes he gave us to bypass the security system, we should be able to get inside.”
She headed off towards the office and Cole followed, shaking off his thoughts about where he was and concentrating on the mission at hand, to figure out the NSC’s endgame. They entered the office, once opulent like the club but now barren and cold, where Lauren soon found the secret switch inside an old lampshade that was wired up to the vault access staircase. McKenas noted how quickly she seemed to find it. For a young NSC desk agent with almost no field experience, she seemed remarkably able when it came to locating secret switches. A door shaped chunk of the rear wall slid to the left slowly, revealing a small staircase descending around six foot, at which Cole and Lauren were met by a large, sturdy metallic door. Cole stood back as Lauren found the security code panel next to the door and punched in the numerical system that would allow them passage through into the potential treasure trove before them.
“Three…zero…six…two…” Lauren punched in while reciting the code, at which point the metallic door unlocked as a hiss of encapsulated air sounded, the vault clearly having been locked for too long. The door slid to the side much like the wall had, exposing both Cole and Lauren to a rather incredible sight from their perspective.
The vault room before them wasn’t very large, about twelve metres long by six metres across. However, it was untouched by the passing of time. The walls were painted of a sleek grey, which complimented the rows of metallic file cabinets on both sides of the wall. Lauren instantly went to one of the file cabinets and began rummaging through, as Cole moved further into the vault as he looked around. He began taking note of the card markers on each cabinet, revealing what each concerned. He saw file cabinets devoted to the Alliance of Twelve; K-Directorate; FTL; every single SD-cell, SD-6 in particular. All the old enemies that a part of Cole actually missed. He was curious to see two cabinets in particular devoted to singular individuals. One concerned Arvin Sloane. Another for Sydney and Jack Bristow.
“This cabinet seems to concern the KGB,” admitted a fascinated-looking Lauren. “Contacts, aliases, former field stations, blackmail material. The Russians would have given anything for these documents. They probably still would. This vault is an incredible find. And you say you’ve never been down here before, Cole?…Cole?…”
Lauren was soon distracted by the lack of response from her partner. She looked up and saw that Cole had become enraptured by one of the cabinets at the far end of the vault. She moved towards him.
“Cole?. What is it?…” she asked, curiously. Cole motioned towards the large cabinet at the farthest end of the vault. “Cabinet 47.” he replied, ominously.
She now saw what it was that had grabbed his attention. The outside of the cabinet was marked with the <0> symbol. The Eye of Milo Rambaldi. The 15th century prophet and inventor who’s work was being sought by the world’s most dangerous and inventive criminal element. And here was a veritable treasure trove of Rambaldi knowledge. Locked away in a small underground vault beneath a ran down Parisian club. Cole immediately opened the cabinet and began rifling through the files.
“Cole, you can’t be suggesting the ‘Nightingale’ file is in a cabinet devoted to Rambaldi?…” asked Lauren, almost too incredulously. “That wouldn’t make any sense, given who it is we’re looking for.”
“D’you really believe that, girlie?…” Cole replied as he rifled the files, irritating Lauren slightly by his form of addressing her. “I think it makes perfect sense.”
At that moment, both hear gunfire echoing through into the vault. Lauren turns disturbed towards the staircase entrance, though Cole’s focus is on ‘Cabinet 47’.
“Alpha team, this is Reed, what’s going on up there?!…” a concerned Lauren asked into her earpiece mic. “Alpha team, respond!!…”
No response comes through, as more gunfire became audible, soon trailing off rather ominously.
“Cole…” Lauren says worriedly as she moves towards the staircase. Cole, though, ignores her and keeps searching the files. He soon stops as one of the folders is found to be marked ‘Nightingale’. His eyes light up with anticipation at the sight.
“I got it!!…” he screams, just as Lauren sees a hand grenade land at the bottom of the stairs right in front of her, thrown from the top of the stairs outside the vault. She dives for cover as the grenade explodes, blowing out chunks of the vault wall and destroying the filing cabinets nearest to the core of the blast. A fire rages up all around the vault, flames catching and melting the cabinets and igniting the files of untold information within, burning the knowledge possibly forever. The explosion burns and cuts Lauren slightly as she covers herself, while it blows Cole back onto the wall nearest to him with great force, before he could fully remove the ‘Nightingale’ file. The flames start encroaching on their positions as they burn more and more of the cabinets around them.
Suddenly, both Cole and Lauren are startled when a vault intercom sounds and a familiar voice resounds in. “I’m sorry, McKenas, but you left me little choice. I had to do this.”
“Willard?!” Cole exclaimed in shock. “What the hell are you doin’, man?!”
“These files can never see the light of day.” replied DeMarais’ voice through the speakers. “I made a covenant, McKenas, to protect ‘Nightingale’ whatever the cost. I cannot betray that now. Even for you.”
The speakers sounded off and the voice of the betrayer disappeared. Cole and Lauren look at one another, fearing this may be one hell-hole they won’t escape from alive……
<span style='font-size:21pt;line-height:100%'>ALIAS</span>
