//------------------------------// // Chapter XX: "A Couple Of Harmless Diplomats" // Story: The Conversion Bureau: Setting Things Right // by kildeez //------------------------------// David settled into the driver’s seat, still a little freaked out that it was on the right side of the car. Even after nearly a year in Europe, that part still hadn’t quite sunk in. Akshat was right behind him, sliding into the passenger’s seat with his phone pressed to his ear while David started them up. “Well,” Dave sighed. “That was a complete waste of time.” “Speaking of,” Akshat put in, hanging up the call. “That was Anton. That cell phone trace for that Marine’s phone dead-ended. Whole damn military showing up in the arse-end of nowhere just to find a dead phone in a cave.” “Heh. It’d be funnier if the fate of the world wasn’t in the balance,” David snickered, settling behind the wheel as they pulled away from the curb. He could just imagine a full platoon of dudes in complete combat gear, rifles at the ready, thermal vision probably on as they descended into the darkness of some forgotten cave, weapons trained on a little hunk of flickering plastic on the ground. “Well, at least it got us off the boat. I dunno about you, but any time I can spend away from Admiral Peterson and his UN-jackboots is good time.” “Careful, you are talking to one of those UN jackboots,” Akshat snickered. “Oh, shut up, if you’re a UN goon, I’m the King of England,” David guffawed. Akshat grinned back. The guy wouldn’t have been Dave’s first choice for a travelling buddy back in their old hometown (that honor still belonged to lovely little Lisa), but he was friendly enough, even after the little turban incident. Dear God, had that been just a couple months ago? Seemed so much longer, in a different world perhaps. One where Equestria was a neutralized threat and magic remained under heavy restraints to dull its edge. Now, that world was gone, and a very different one had taken its place. In hindsight, maybe sitting bored in an office eight hours a day hadn’t been so bad. Ugh, he needed to get his mind off this, to think of anything but this crazy shit. His mind went to his partner, and figured hey, even small talk with a friend had to be better than imagining what kind of crazy shit could be going on in Dusseldorf or back on that fucking alcoholic’s ship. “Hey, Akshat?” “Yes?” The Sikh was curled up, apparently intent on taking a nap. Well, too bad. It was a forty-five minute drive back to Heathrow, and then another long flight to catch a chopper back to the Illustrious, David was not spending that time alone with his thoughts. “What was it like? Back home, I mean? What’s home to you?” An odd question, considering all the time he’d had to ask, but after the infamous “turban” incident, David had always found ways to avoid asking. Or, perhaps more accurately, to avoid Akshat “Hmm…nice,” Akshat said, turning over in his seat. He’d obviously resigned himself to the realization that he would not be spending the journey back in blissful slumber. “Just…nice. Not what you’d call first-class, yankee-doodle, but not like those mud huts I am sure you have seen on CNN.” David smiled at that. “Nice. Sounds…nice,” he said awkwardly, suddenly recalling a glaring moment from Cele…Target Alpha’s escape. A moment when the Sikh had moved with his blades using the kind of skill that only came from years of practice. “I take it some of that time involved knife-throwing?” He heard Akshat shift uncomfortably in his seat. “A little,” he said. “When I was a boy, the village elders decreed that we all learn the proper handling of the Kirpan. They personally supervised our development with them, so don’t go forming the image of us just hacking away at each other like barbarians from age twelve.” “Ah,” David said, a little hurt that Akshat would even think that image would cross his mind as anything more than a stupid subconscious joke. “So, you kids only threw knives at targets and not at each other, right?” There was a long pause, and then, a tiny, stupid smile alit on Akshat’s face. “Usually. When the Elders were standing right there.” David had to copy that smile. Apparently, boys would be boys no matter where you went. Which, of course, was just a nice way of saying: “the entire generation would have probably wiped itself out if it wasn’t for the older generation standing right behind them at all times.” He was going to ask something else, really he was. And maybe then Akshat would have asked him a question and before he knew it, the miracle of male bonding would be well underway. Unfortunately, his cell phone rang, and as a man directly on the UNCDI’s payroll, he was obligated to answer it. He didn’t even look at the screen as he pressed the phone to his ear, though if he had he would have seen the “Unknown Caller” flashing there, and would have prepared himself for a speedy hang-up for what was almost certainly a telemarketer or a recording promising him the cruise of a lifetime. “Hello?” He asked. Instead of a woman asking if he knew about the miracle cure that could take ten inches off his waistline and add them to his penis, David got a sudden and garbled voice screaming into his ear: “Hit the brakes, now! That’s an order, soldier!” In a split-second, David the eager diplomat slid out of the little driver’s seat in his mind, and David the Marine slipped right back in, grabbing the wheel as if he hadn’t been on a five-year siesta. That Marine heard the voice of a superior officer commanding him (nevermind that it could have been a practical joker at a payphone with incredible luck) and immediately slammed his foot onto the brakes. Tires screeched, the car swayed. Akshat only just managed to remain in his seat by bracing himself against the dashboard, both men’s seatbelts digging into their shoulders. “David, what the fu-“ He never got the chance to finish his sentence. A black SUV came roaring out of the nearest alleyway, obviously intent on smashing into the little sedan’s side using the UNCDI logo on David’s door as a bullseye. Fortunately, with the brakes applied, the SUV’s aim was thrown off and only managed to slam into the driver’s side wheel well, still exerting enough force to spin the sedan around a full one-eighty. David thought he screamed. Or perhaps it was Akshat, who could possibly have told amidst the chaos of those interminable milliseconds? Shattered glass filled the air as the driver’s side windows shattered, the sickening crunch of metal on metal blasting David’s thoughts out of his head with its sheer volume. The car reared up on two wheels before crashing back down, leaving the dazed diplomats spinning in their seats. Still, it could have been worse. Another second’s hesitation on those brakes, and David’s brains would probably be a red and gray smear all over the driver’s side window. With the car settled, David the diplomat took a quick peek outside, inspecting the caved-in hood and twisted body where the engine block had been, which now oozed oil like blood out of roadkill. His stomach twisted at the thought of explaining that to his superiors, what little of his mind that wasn’t dazed or spinning already dreading the conversation. Another part flared with anger at the driver of the SUV. What kind of asshole just burst out of an alleyway like that without looking both ways!? What kind of damned idiot driver did that!? What, was he trying to reenact his favorite alleyway chase scenes!? David oughta… All those thoughts froze as David looked in the rearview mirror at the SUV, and the diplomat slid back out of the driver’s seat to let the Marine back in. Why? Simply because innocent drivers in accidents came stumbling out of their cars, cell phones in hands, babbling about how they ‘didn’t see them.’ Innocent drivers did not walk out of their cars with three of their friends, all dressed with Kevlar vests, mismatched army camo, and black balaclavas, carrying aging but still serviceable Kalashnikov AK-47 assault rifles. But that’s just what this fine group of gentlemen did. David the Marine was quick to gather his wits again, but not quick enough. Before he even realized what was happening, one of the men had bashed in Akshat’s window and dragged the delirious Sikh out. David watched Akshat vanish through a cloud of shattered safety glass in awe, but not enough awe to keep him from reaching down his side, his hand trailing down his leg to the tiny little gift his father had given him before seeing him off to his new life as a UN diplomat. The Colt M1911 was a damn-near masterpiece. More a work of art than a weapon, in David’s opinion. Genuine sandalwood grip, customized for his hand, with a nickel-plated slide embossed with the words “The Preston Express” on the side. David had found it corny at the time, though that didn’t stop him from taking the weapon to the range every Saturday evening to keep his skills sharp. It even came with interchangeable barrels to allow it to shoot .45 caliber or 9mm rounds, though Dave usually kept the .45 barrel in place, with a magazine full of hollow-point rounds just waiting to be unleashed. Sure, convincing the British government to allow someone to just walk around as they would with a CCW back in the states had been a bitch, but totally worth it in Dave’s humble opinion. Besides, what was the point of UNCDI clout if one didn’t use it for a few little concessions? Now, his opinion that the effort it took to keep the pistol on him whenever he felt like was well worth it only solidified. The fact that the hospital hadn’t had a metal detector, which could have led to all sorts of awkward questions from Akshat, also crossed his mind. He thanked God Almighty, or whoever was listening, for every tiny coincidence that let him keep his favorite weapon as he drew it and waited. He didn’t have to wait long for the sound of scraping glass: the gunman using the butt of his rifle to clear away the rest of the safety glass while using one hand to tug at Dave’s arm. That tug was Dave’s signal. It would be now, or winding up on Youtube with his head cut off. The Colt was barely a flash of silver in the late-day sun, David lashing out like a coiled spring to sit up in his seat and press the barrel of the weapon against the gunman’s forehead. The man didn’t even have time to realize what was about to happen before a hollow-point slammed through his skull, his brains exploding out the back of his head through the peach-sized hole the round left. Grabbing the man’s body by the collar of the Kevlar vest, David hauled him up, keeping the dead man in place as a shield as he surveyed the street behind him. The man’s buddy stared back at him, eyes wide. His mouth dropped open, a scream dying on his lips as he bought the rifle up in a panicked attempt to save his own sorry skin. Of course, in his panic, he only managed a spray of bullets in the already mortally-wounded engine, earning a few more spurts of oil for his trouble as Dave emptied four rounds in a close grouping in the man’s chest. The second gunman pulled off a half-circle as he fell, sending a couple 7.62 rounds into the backs of his friend’s legs, not that he minded at that point. That was two men down in under five seconds. Yes, Dave the Marine was back in business, but that still left two men with something near and dear to him hauling ass to wherever-the-fuck, probably a small, windowless basement to spew their anti-UN hate while decapitating their prize. That was not going to happen, not if the Marine had anything to say about it. He released his grip on the man with a hole in his head, allowing him to slump to the pavement while Dave slipped through the hole the dead man had so graciously cleared for him. He peered up in time to watch a van, an Econoline by the looks of it, screech into the street, once again driven by some asshole in a balaclava. He primed himself and managed a few hurried shots at the newcomer, but all that accomplished was a broken rear window, which did nothing to stop the gunmen as they bundled Akshat up, tossing him roughly into the back before diving in themselves. Then, David had to leap for cover behind the ruined SUV as one of the attackers took a few potshots out the shattered rear window, bullets pinging off the metal. Gasping for air, Dave wasted no time rising to his feet, pistol at the ready. Then, with a loud groan, he realized just how miserable his situation was. He’d never been the target of those last few potshots, the holes of steam pouring out the SUV’s engine block told him that much. He looked up and down the empty street, taking stock of his situation. He had two cars: one riddled with more bullets than a Kentucky firing range, the other ready only for the scrapyard. He couldn’t hotwire a vehicle, and he was absolutely alone in the street. The wail of sirens met his ear, but they were at least five minutes away, if the time it had taken to drive from the hospital was any indication. With no other options left to him, David Preston, aka David the Marine, sighed and started down the road at a dead sprint, barely aware of the way his dress shoes slipped and stumbled awkwardly over the pavement, eyes set straight forward. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thomas Cavanaugh didn’t think he was a bad man. People rarely did, even those responsible for car bombings that had left mothers and their babies fused together, their skin nearly melted away by the sheer heat of a massive fireball. But hey, that woman had to have known the risks; you didn’t just go around, pushing your stroller right by a viable UN target like a freakin’ embassy! And after all, it was all for a good cause, right? Freeing the world of UN tyranny was what it was all about, or at least, that’s what he told the new recruits, along with all the other thunder and lightning about ridding the world of those that had nearly doomed it five years before. Of course, in those speeches he always left out the part about his joining the Human Liberation Front the day after the UN signed that damned treaty with those monsters, those fucking animals, those things that had threatened his entire species and were now being allowed to rebuild when the UN should have been working on a way to close up whatever mistake in the fabric of space-time had allowed them to stay in the first place! Or better yet, maybe the UN could have finished the job. That’s what humanity did with smallpox, after all. When something from nature threatened all of humanity, you killed it! You didn’t console the rabid dog or the feral wolf to help them through their issues; you put a bullet in their fucking heads! End of discussion! Okay, Thomas was an angry person, he would freely admit to that. Still, it was hard not to be in times like these. Especially now, after they’d lost so much. Two more of his brothers had fallen, one of them his best friend since primary school, and for what? Some sand-nigger the UN would probably be glad to get rid of!? The other one, the Yank, had been the big fluffy bunny at the top of the prize wall, and here they were, driving away with a water bottle from the bottom row. “Aww shit,” Brian was freaking out. Of course he was. He was the rookie after all, the recruit given an easy assignment to test his nerve. The kid peeled off his balaclava and slammed his Kalashnikov against the ground, peering back through the shattered rear window. “Aww shit…what the fuck was that!?” “That was your first assignment, kid,” Thomas grumbled, wishing for a cigarette. “No, what the fuck was all that!?” He gasped, his breath coming in near-hyperventilating wheezes. “For fuck’s sake! They were a couple of unguarded diplomats! What the fuck, huh!? What the fuck!?” “Kid, calm the fuck down, you’re acting like a right ponce,” Thomas said, still clenching his own Kalashnikov just in case the raghead on the floor between them tried anything. “And we left them!” The kid shrieked, turning an accusing glare on Thomas that immediately made the older man want to pound his face in. “We left Bob and Jacob back there to die! What the fuck, man!? Why didn’t you even try!? Why didn’t you…” At that, Thomas’s hand darted forward and locked around Brian’s nose, crushing the bridge between the knuckles of his middle and ring finger. The kid gasped in surprise and pain, but remained still, just as he was trained. “Robert and Jacob knew what they were getting into when they joined the cause,” Thomas said evenly, relieving just a tiny bit of pressure just as felt the cartilage in his grip start to give. “Soldiers lay down their lives every day. This is a war, young one, I thought you understood that.” “Ah! I do! Ah!” Brian gasped, arms tensing and releasing, caught between trying to claw away at Thomas and knowing the terrible consequences which would follow such defiance. “Hmph, see that you remember it,” Thomas kept the pressure up until a couple trickles of blood leaked from the kid’s nostrils, then finally released him, allowing him to fall to the floor and cradle his injured nose. “Robert and Jacob were dead by the time we realized anything had happened anyway. Their families will give them funerals, you know that. The only thing we could have done was collect their bodies.” Brian was still clenching his nose. He was still in too much pain to take the words to heart, Tom knew that, but later he would. Just like his mentor had made him understand how that woman and her baby were just collateral damage. Happened with every war, just like soldiers died in every war. The victors were the ones who could keep fighting despite the losses. Everyone in the group eventually figured that out, or they wound up at the bottom of the Thames with a brick of cement around their feet and a stiletto in their backs. Right now, Brian was looking like he might be one of the latter group, but Thomas couldn’t be sure. You just didn’t know: the kid might turn it around at some point, who could really tell? The raghead stirred, and Thomas was quick to draw the .38 revolver from his hip holster and jam it against the back of his head. “You just sit tight, sand-nigger,” he hissed. “We’ll get where we’re goin’, but you so much as fuckin’ move and I’ll spray your brains all over the bloody wall.” “Yeah, w-what he said!” Brian put in, trying to earn a little bit of his pride back despite still clenching his bleeding nose. For a little extra credit, he threw in a kick to the brown one’s ribs, earning a grunt of pain. He looked up at Thomas with a big smile on his face, like a puppy looking for approval. Thomas threw him a little smile. Sure, no harm in that, right? And then a quick, confused grimace crossed his face as his gun hand went numb. Thomas looked down, rather shocked to see a small stick of metal growing from the middle of his hand. The brown man now glared at him fiercely, his piercing eyes locked on him. “What the fu-“ Brian started, but the raghead rolled to his stomach and his hand darted to his belt, faster than anything Thomas had seen, faster than should’ve been possible, or maybe that was just the shock from the pain in his hand messing with his mind. And then a handle just like the one in his own hand sprouted from Brian’s throat. The kid fell back, clutching at the knife as blood gushed down the front of his neck. Thomas started to tell him not to touch it, to leave it in so that some of the blood would remain, but it was all for naught. The kid’s hand slumped to the side and his eyes glazed over, his shirt now absolutely soaked in blood. “WHAT THE FUCKING SHI-“ the driver started. In the rush that had come after snatching this brown one, this demon now slicing his way through them with practiced ease, Thomas had almost forgotten him. One hand on the steering wheel, the driver lunged back with a Glock in his free hand, letting off a couple of wild shots that only perforated the van’s roof before the raghead grabbed the arm, worked the pistol into Thomas’s direction, and forced the trigger a couple times. The last thing Thomas ever saw was the brown-skinned demon slicing through the artery in the driver’s gun arm before the knife twirled in his hand, opening his throat. Then the van slammed into something, a parked car by the sounds of metal on metal, and the flesh binding the bullet wounds in Thomas’s chest came undone. He died as the man threw him aside to crawl out the side door. Wha-what were we up against!? He thought: he’d lost the ability to speak aloud, even to himself. What the hell did those bastards send us against!? They were the last thoughts he would ever have before he slid into a dark place where a baby cried constantly from its mother’s limp arms for the rest of time.