Mission: Cold Tundra – Part 2

Weeks passed and the wind had become particularly bitter. Icicles on what was left of the few hearty trees broke the branches, landing just outside his cabin. The fire in the stove blazed while he poured over plans, figuring out some way to get in to take a closer look at the operations to report back to his handler.  Wood crackled, a log fell, crunching onto the bottom log that had been decimated with fire. He sat back in the chair in frustration, both hands pushed back against his forehead. Throwing down his pencil, he got up to fill up his whiskey glass and downed the contents in one gulp. Hopeless he thought. The waywardness of this town was never going to be revealed at this rate. His handler had been sending him anxious messages, and he’d return the usual ‘I am working on it’ message. 

He exhausted his options for outside incursion and decided it needed to be on the inside. In the only bar, men would come in, drink and leave. He suspected they may have been guards and his suspicions were satisfied during a drunken game of darts. Loosened lips of conversations he overheard. He found his way. The plan put in motion. He just needed someone who was about his size, mid-height, compactly muscular, everything else would be covered by the thick black overcoat. He found the perfect mark. Spiking the drink of someone drunk was easy but wasn’t necessary and this time there was a straggler who had been becoming more and more annoying to his pals. They left him behind, swaying, attempting to put on his jacket, and singing to himself in French.

“Allez, tiens-toi droit, Pierre. Mets ton bras là, dans la manche.” (Come on, stand up straight, Pierre. Put your arm in here, in the sleeve.) Dustin said, taking his jacket sleeve.

“Attends… attends… C’est quelle manche ? Je vois double, là,” (Wait… wait… Which sleeve? I’m seeing double…) the drunken Pierre sputtered.

“Celle de droite. Non, ta droite, pas la mienne. Voilà, comme ça.”(The one on the right. No, your right, not mine. There, like that.)

“Pourquoi c’est si compliqué ? Ce manteau m’en veut, je te jure…” (Why is this so complicated? This coat hates me, I swear…) they both laughed. Dustin was trying to keep him upright.

“Non, c’est juste toi qui as bu trop de vin. Maintenant l’autre bras,” (No, it’s just you who drank too much wine. Now the other arm.) Pierre laughed and swirled around, becoming more unsteady. Easy target Dustin thought.

“Ah, merci. T’es un vrai ami. Sans toi, je dormirais sûrement dans le caniveau,” (Ah, thanks. You’re a real friend. Without you, I’d probably be sleeping in a gutter.) he patted Dustin on the chest.

“Oui, et moi je ferais mieux de te laisser là. Mais bon, monte, je te ramène chez toi,” (Yes, and I should probably leave you there. But fine, get in, I’ll take you home.) Dustin tried to keep him steady, his arm around his waist while the drunk Frenchman had his arm around his shoulders.

“T’es trop gentil… ou trop bête. Je sais plus,” (You’re too nice… or too stupid. I can’t tell anymore.)

‘I am not the stupid one’, Dustin pulled him out the door.

The last black Range Rover out front must have been his. He buried his lifeless body along the back passage beneath piles of snow after removing his jacket, hat with ear muffs, and scarf. The keys to the car were in the inside jacket pocket thankfully. His hands were too frozen to hot wire it. It has been a while since he had to do that. Luck was on his side. He sent a short message on his phone and pulled out of the spot.

Dustin followed the deep set of tracks that led out of the town and to the compound. He had been watching the entry for a while with some gear and he memorized the routine. It was easy to mimic that fool Pierre.

“Bonsoir Pierre, bienvenue ! Comment s’est passé le voyage?” (Good evening Pierre, welcome back. How was the trip?) the guard’s gruff voice said, his automatic weapon he held closely across his stomach. Despite being fully bundled up, he didn’t seem to want to wait for the reply, but forced himself to do his job.

“Bien, mais le soleil ne s’est pas levé lors de ma sortie,” (good, but the sun didn’t rise on my outing) was the password Dustin heard before and he repeated it like Pierre would have if he were there. The guard opened the gate quickly and escaped back into the warmth of his hut. He hoped it would be just as easy the rest of the way.

Guards were few at that time of the night. A handful of sentries along the balconies and stairs. Something truly notorious must be going on for there to be constant guards on the exits and entries. He just needed to find it, but he wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. They assured him that he would know it when he saw it and left it to that. 

———

The lights were dimmed along all the passageways. Blending in is no problem for him, he tended to go unnoticed most of the time. The trick was to act like he belonged there. 

The corridors were lined with art. He didn’t know much about art, but what he saw hanging in that compound high up in the arctic were not fakes. A Van Gogh and Vermeer hung side by side, a strange juxtaposition he thought. He peeked inside one room, discovering a bar and lounge area. Only one person sat in a dark corner. He withdrew before the individual could look up. He had to keep moving. there was something in this place he needed to find and it was imperative. His handler didn’t usually send him to chase wild geese. 

Most of the rooms were empty of people thankfully. As he traveled along the passageways, he managed to avoid anyone coming his way, hiding in dark doorways till the passed. The ability of crawling into tight spaces was a trick he learned as a child which he used to his advantage in this job. 

A bright light and commotion drew his attention, and positioned himself along the wall along the wall of tapestry. It was a balcony filled with men who looked like him who watched the proceedings beneath them on the bottom floor.  

“How are our shipments going,” a man with a British accent was speaking. Dustin was able to find a spot near the banister to get a better look down. A long table filled with rows of men on each side and more men stationed behind them. At the head of the long table was a white haired, distinguished gentlemen with a grey suit and tie. Dustin’s eye was drawn to the woman who sat to the man in the grey suit right hand. A notebook before her, her dark black hair against her pale skin fell forward as her pen wrote vigorously. 

“The missiles were sent as directed and payment was received promptly,” a man with a thick French accent spoke from the other side of the table. 

“Good,” the man in the grey suit spoke, sitting back, looking pleased with himself. “We will adjourn for now. I have some other business to attend to. We will reconvene tomorrow. Enjoy the amenities we have to offer. If there is anything you would like, please let the attendants know, and it will be easily obtained and granted.”

Suddenly, a black shroud went over his head and arms grabbed both of his sides, he couldn’t breathe. He could feel the yanking of his shirt at the shoulder to expose his skin and a pinch of sharp precise pain. He cursed under his breath because he felt sure of himself, always invisible, mixing in with the crowd, but he lost this time. The world grew darker and soon time stood still. 

_____

Dustin blinked his eyes, head pounding. Through half-opened eyes, he saw movement — a spider crawled across the side table. Disoriented at first, he soon realized he was at his cabin. Confused, he turned around onto his back to stare at the blurry ceiling. What the hell happened, he wondered. Was it even real? 

Jumping up, he grabbed all his belongings into his black duffel bag, leaving the cabin, and jumped into his 4-wheel drive. He would message his handler as he left town, but one stop first.

He pulled into the hidden space along the fence line. In the distance, through the binoculars, the compound looked empty of all movement. Gone were the black coats, moving like ants long upper story walkways. As he drove past the entry, the guard house, void of occupants, all the windows and doors were boarded up and the gate opened. His curiousity got the better of him. 

Pulling up outside the front entry, no one stirred still. Fear of exposure gone. Inside, the compound was barren. Every piece of art gone, the rooms, emptied of all the belongs. Even the alcohol along the bar was gone. It was like no one was ever there. He did feel the eyes of someone on him as he roamed the echoing halls; being watched he had gotten used to in one way. always being accountable to someone, but also having to learn how to hide. He needed to get better because he failed this time and he knew the score. He needed to report back. Taking a closer look at his watch, he did a double take at the day number. Two days gone that he didn’t remember anything. Two days of darkness. 

Finding his way back, his car was just as he left it and drove out of the compound, not looking back at the figure watching and making sure he was leaving. 

“Do you think he will have anything to tell his superiors,” he said.

“I don’t think he remembers much. What he got erases a lot of memories. Don’t worry, but we need to be more careful next time,” she said. “Have you had an update on the new space?”

“The arrangements are coming along quite well. It will be nice to be warm again,” he replied.

“Good,” she brushed past him, “very good. Well done. Let’s wrap this up.”

Dustin turned around in his seat as an helicopter flew high over the terrain, but nothing registered. Something was wrong, he felt it but he wasn’t sure what it was. His heart raced as the tires crunched through the ice and mud. They were waiting for him and he needed to hurry.

_________________

The sun beat down the his bronze skin, glistening from sweat and oil, a cold drink at his side, water dripping down the sides. With his dark glasses shielding his eyes, he watched yachts bob along the shore, their anchor lines keeping them from moving from their spots. Beautiful tanned people chatted and sunned themselves on board while he and the others watched a jealous gaze at them. He knew that life only from a distance. 

His name was Gilbert this time. He flicked a tiny spider that found its way onto his bony knuckles. Stretching himself out on the lounge chair, he had time to make his plans. An evening out amongst the rich and pampered. Nothing like he grew up, but he tried to forget about that. And taking another long sip of his fruity drink, a waiter asked him if he wanted another, and there was a nod in approval. It was good and he had a perfect view of his next job.