The Seraphs Call - Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

San Francisco, CA

“Hello, Dr. Green, welcome to San Francisco, I am Petri Andropov.” The huge barrel-chested man that met Stephan in the reception of the Centers for Disease Control in San Francisco, reminded the Creole of a bristling black bear—an exceptionally large Russian bear.  His accent crept through despite years of formal English education, interrupting his near perfect diction, by what Stephan guessed was the lapse of complete exhaustion that bled its dark circles around the big man’s eyes. “I’m glad to see you made it here, the streets aren’t safe these days…” Petri offered his oversized hand in welcome.

“Nice to meet one of the most esteemed section chiefs the CDC has ever known.” Stephen grasped the Russian’s hand firmly and was amazed to see his own rather large hand disappear in the man’s huge grip. “I’ve read some of your papers that you wrote for the CDC, and the ones in Russia before you came to the states; they made fascinatingly intuitive logical leaps that seem to have proved out…”

“We Russians are nothing if not logical Dr. Green.”  Petri smiled and held up his hands in mock embarrassment. “But then my logic has done me little good in battling this current dilemma. I guess that’s where you come in…”

 “I have nothing on you, Dr. Andropov,” Stephen shook his head.  “Why would they think I could handle this any better?”

For the first time Stephen noticed the red puffiness of Petri’s blue eyes as he responded. “I am a research Scientist my friend, not a field man…I could never stomach death close and personal…”

“I guess that’s why we’re not doctors.  Don’t worry about it, I grew up in the Bayou, I’ve seen everything disgusting under the sun and eaten some of them too.” Stephen thumped his stomach.  “Cast iron Creole made, Sir.”

“Well, I’ll show you your quarters for your stay here,” Petri heaved two of the Creole’s larger bags and motioned for Stephen to follow him. “You can unpack and meet me for dinner in the staff cafeteria.”

They walked through the white marble-tiered hall, shoes clicking on the black cloud tile.  Passing few people in the passage, mostly soldiers in Army green with a few harried looking technicians in lab coats, they reached the elevators in the main hall.

“We have two main elevators in this building to the low and mid security floors.” Petri motioned toward the black gloss doors. “The other…” the yellow and black stripes on the door contrasted with the bright red letters stenciled on it: Restricted Access: Level 4 Biological contaminations Studies, “is a secure elevator that you will need to pass through three forms of security to ride.  First is this…” the Russian held up a key and turned it in the elevator lock. “A computer chip encoded access key. We will get you keys made at our supplier tomorrow, for right now I will escort you between your quarters and the lab.

“The second is…” Petri pressed a button near the key hole and a small aperture slide open. “… a genetic scanning devise, which not only verifies the code of the individual authorized personnel, but will restrict any contaminated subjects from entering the premise and alert the building if someone infected tries.” He put his finger in the aperture and winced slightly as a small needle collected a drop of his blood.

The small digital screen above the aperture blinked DNA VERIFIED: Dr. Petri Andropov, and then a droning computer voice came over a speaker. “Please verify voiceprint.”

“Computer cancel elevator request.” Petri enunciated clearly into the microphone.

“Dr. Petri Andropov, voiceprint confirmed, canceling elevator request.” The computer replied.

Petri moved to the free access elevators and thumbed the up button. There was a sound of whooshing air as the doors slide open. “The rest of the facility has electronic locks, all the doors are air tight, and are put into lockdown once an alert is sounded, so we are fairly safe.”

“And fairly trapped in case of an alert,” Stephen commented as the boarded the elevator. “What is to keep lockdown from lasting too long?”

“We have airborne bio-contamination monitors, throughout the building.”  Petri spread his hands expansively. “As soon as the bio-filters clear the building, the doors unlock; the longest lockdown we’ve had is three days.”

“How many days of food and self contained water supply, do we have here?”

“Thirty days…”

“So assuming it clears within seven days after our clean water supply runs out in the building, we should be alright.”  Stephan muttered sarcastically.  “Let’s hope Lucifer X never mutates to airborne…then we’re all fucked…lockdown will be our tomb.”

“Speak no more of such things, my dark friend.”  Petri grimaced, as he pressed the button for the third floor living quarters.  “In Russia it’s considered bad luck to joke about impending disaster.”

 I wasn’t joking, Stephan thought to himself, but kept his mouth firmly shut.

       

June 17, 2049 – 0200 Hours - U.N Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

Illyana fought back the urge to vomit as the bile swelled inside her, rising up from her stomach, her gag reflex kicking in. 

That was too close, Illyana, He had seen the message.  Hopefully, he wouldn't realize what he’d seen.  You need to be more careful. 

Straightening the papers, she rose to her feet, the queasiness in her stomach worsening with his each step as she headed rapidly for her room, down the hallway from which he’d come.  She knew she had to stop the betrayal, but she didn’t quite know how.  She felt as if the grip which Isaak held on her was tightening more so, weakening her ability to break free from the coercion and blackmail he had employed to further his own agenda with each passing day. 

If she were caught, at best she would be removed from the project and lose the respect of everyone in her field, at worse, she would lose Gabriel’s friendship and she could face prison and god knows what else if anyone found out her treasonous behavior. 

I must stop this.  Though she didn’t know where to begin.  

Reaching the door to her room, she rapidly punched in the access code, but the door failed to open.  She could feel the acids churning in her stomach.  She tried again, but the door still failed to open. 

Calm down, Illyana.  He doesn’t know anything.  Taking a deep breath, she slowly pressed the buttons, 4,5,8,2.  Beep.  She pushed the door open, and barged into the room, hurriedly tossing the stack of papers onto the first of two full size beds in the room, the vomit rising in her throat as she ran to the bathroom, barely making it in time to empty the contents of her stomach, what little there were, into the porcelain bowl. 

The retching continued for a few minutes, the spasms slowly subsiding, as she fought to regain control of the puking reflex, which wanted to continue on its own.  Holding herself steady, she reached and flushed the contents down into the pipes, the smell threatening to rekindle the episode.  She knelt for a little longer, pressing her face against the icy coldness of the bowl in attempt to bring a temporary reprieve to the headache she knew would soon come. 

Pushing herself to her feet, she walked unsteadily back into the bedroom and collapsed on the closest bed; her head still swimming and the thoughts returning from the encounter with Desdin.  She fought back as the nausea threatened to overwhelm her, the knot in her throat seemingly getting larger. 

Curling into a little ball, her hands pressed into her stomach as she tried to suppress the stabbing pains that ripped through her insides and she began to sob, the stress of this whole situation threatening to overwhelm her.  She knew that if she didn’t do something soon, she would end up with more problems, far worse than the ulcer that was eating away at her insides, than she knew what to do with.

June 17, 2049 – 0200 Hours U.N Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

The discovery Desdin made sent him on a detour.  Instead of continuing on to the security office, he turned right towards the communications center.  The trap must be set before he left.  Unclipping the badge from his pocket, he passed it in front of the magnetic reader, waiting for the light to change from red to amber, signaling acceptance of the badge.  When the security access indicator changed, he reached over and punched in the four-digit code on the keypad, the security access indicator changed from amber to green, the audible pop of the door lock signaling the authorization to proceed.  Desdin stopped inside the door, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. 

The Comm. center was darkened at night, the only lights, those of the computer monitors and the energized communications equipment.  He looked around the room, searching for Sergeant Johnson, but didn’t see her.  She was the only person who knew about the cryptic transmissions, and at this point, the only person he could trust.  She must be off shift.  Reaching for the phone nestled in a little alcove next to the door; he dialed the number for the main switchboard.

“Switchboard” was the only response.

“Pass me through to Sergeant Johnson’s Room, please.”

“I’m sorry, but personal calls to rooms are not allowed at this time of day” came the response.

“This is Lt. Colonel Reutger.  This is not 'personal business', this is official business,” he said, gritting his teeth, though he knew the operator was doing his job.”

“I’m sorry, Colonel, calls are not allowed to personal room after 2300 hours, as per direct instructions from Colonel Rathborn,” came the response from a very tired voice.

“I appreciate your wanting to follow orders, but Colonel Rathborn is not on station, and as per HIS orders,” he accentuated, “I am in charge why he’ll is gone.  So for now, patch me through to Sergeant Johnson’s room, and we’ll resolve this with Colonel Rathborn when he returns.”

“Very well, Sir, patching you through,” came the resigned voice.

Desdin knew why Rathborn had stopped all phone calls after 2300.  Many of the enlisted troops were staying up all hours of the night talking on the phone, unable to do their jobs the next day due to sleep depravation, and their conversations were interfering with other’s sleep.

One ring.  Two rings.  Three rings.  Damnit, pick up!

There was a click and slight delay, the music in the background muffled, followed by a very tired and weak, “Hello”

“Sergeant Johnson, this is Colonel Reutger.”

“Yes, Sir.  What can I do for you?” came the scratchy response.

“Sergeant, I need you to come down to the comm. Center right away.  The issue we discussed earlier has come back.”

“Sir?”

“You know.  The problem with the “communications” he said, not trying to say too much over the unsecured line.

“Oh, thaaaat” her voice perking, fully realizing what he was talking about, “give me ten minutes, Sir, and I’ll be there.”  She hung up.

She’s a good soldier, he thought to himself, and she definitely a looker too, which is rarer considering the caliber of females in the military.

He couldn’t carry his bags around the comm. Center with him, so he scanned the room and saw that the Comm. Officer’s office was nearby.  Pulling his keys from his pocket, he thumbed through them in the luminescence of a nearby computer monitor and located the master key, of which only he and Rathborn had copies, and walked to the office door.  With a quick flick of his wrist, he unlocked and pushed the door open, and without turning on the light, which would blind everyone whose eyes were adjusted to the darkness, he set his bags on the floor, and pulled the door shut, locking it again.  All he had to do was wait.

The time passed slowly, each minute seeming like five as he watched the busied operations of the comm. Center personnel.  These were dedicated people, spending many long hours in this center, continually monitoring the communications, telephone systems, managing the computer network, and he was proud of them.  He had taken a special interest in them from the start, enjoying watching them perform their duties with the same vigor and lust with which he performed his. 

Only eight minutes had passed when Sergeant Johnson came through the doors, her uniform in state of slight disarray, her hair not its normal perfect self, and her face, void of the makeup she normally wore.  Desdin noticed, that even like this, she was still beautiful. 

Maybe one day.  He could see that she had two cups of coffee in her hand.  Hopefully, one was for him.

‘Good morning, Colonel.  You needed to see me?”  

Grabbing her arm slightly and pulling her near the alcove he whispered, “Yes Sergeant, I do.  I’m sorry for dragging you out of bed at such a late hour.  I need you to do something for me this morning, before the message traffic goes out.  Do you remember what we talked about earlier tonight?”

“Yes, Sir.  I do.  Did you find anything?”

Releasing her arm, he spoke, “I’m not sure, but I have a suspicion.  I’m not going to point any fingers until I have all the facts, so you need to gather any evidence you can for me.  Can you handle that for me while I’m away?”

“Away, Sir?”

“Yes.  Away.  I have to leave the compound for a few days on some important business, so I’ll expect you to run things while I’m gone.  The Comm. officer’s on leave, so you have the show.”

“Yes, Sir.  I can handle that.  What is that you want me to do?” she asked.

Being so close, he found it hard to concentrate, the sweet faint smell of her perfume teasing his senses, “I need you to capture any and all traffic, especially the traffic sent by Dr. Andropov.  No one must know it.  If anyone asks, tell them you have orders from me to perform a communications surveillance sweep on all traffic, and treat it as a routine matter.  Do not say anything to Dr. Andropov.”

“Yes, Sir.  Got it.”  I’ll hold onto the data until you get back.”

Reutger could see the determination in her eyes.  He had stoked the fires and she was going above and beyond to assist him.  He hadn’t expected anything less.  “Thank you, Sergeant.  If anyone asks, I’m away on U.N. business in New York.  Remember, not a word to anyone about our conversation.”

“Yes, Sir” was her only reply as she turned and headed to the main control console to begin preparation for the data capture and analysis.  If everything went correctly, she would not only have the data, but also have it decrypted and analyzed by the time he returned. 

Fishing his keys from his pocket, he found the key to the office, unlocked the door and swiftly retrieved his bags, turning and heading to the exit before he was stopped.  To his relief, there was no one in the hallway as he exited the Comm. Center and headed to the security office located six levels up on the main floor of the complex. 

June 17, 2049 – 1600 Hours (Russian Time) - Moscow, Russia

The icy wind whipped Isaak’s hair violently, as he stepped onto the terrace to clear his head.  The Russian winter was coming early this year he thought, to my country and to my life.  The brutality of the Russian winter was far more forgiving than the situation in which he’d put himself with Alexi Kreschenko. 

The terrace of his elegant apartment sat six floors above the grounds overlooking the sprawling plaza in which sat the Kremlin.  A constant reminder of a time, in the not too distant past, where none of this would have been possible.  This apartment, previously owned by a former Politburo member, was decorated with many antiquities from around the world.  The spoils of western society decadence only available to few during that time, mainly the rich and powerful government officials who openly flaunted their disregard for the rules that applied to the masses. 

He had claimed this apartment after the minister, who had so painstakingly furnished it, had met with an “unfortunate accident” following his “resignation” from government service.  Isaak knew that “unfortunate accident” was another Russian way of saying he’d been assassinated because he would not fit into the new government structure. 

Isaak’s father had seen to it that many of the former members were victims of unfortunate accidents and the new government members were entrusted with the keeping of possessions of the former regime.  Though the members had changed, the methods remained the same, but many of the common people could aspire to an entirely new level of government interference with democracy entangling its tentacles within the old Soviet society. 

Following the downfall of the old Soviet regime, he had flourished, riding his father’s coattails to a position as an under-secretary in Russian Intelligence, the successor to the KGB.  Wrought with corruption following the transition from Glasnost to Democracy, the Intelligence arm of the Russian Government was a ripe environment for Isaak to begin his long planned ascension to power. 

Within five years, he had gained notoriety for cracking down on corruption within the arm, and for bringing many underworld figures to justice.  He was not only recognized by his compatriots, but by the intelligence services of many other nations as well.  This popularity bolstered his nomination as the assistant director for the newly formed United Nations Intelligence Service. 

With this new position, which he greedily accepted, he was able to gain a stronghold in the new U.N. plying the skills learned from his earlier years in the spy trade.  The bridges he had burned and methods he had employed, mainly the use of the Russian Mafia to do his dirty work, was coming back to haunt him.  Fear of exposure had brought him to this point and he had nowhere to run.

The chill that ran along his spine was not brought the cold, but by fear.  He had put himself in a position of debt with Alexi Kreschenko, and was now on the end of a very short leash.  His gambling debts, combined with his penchant for drugs and women had put him under Alexi’s thumb.  With only a limited source of income from the United Nations, though exceptional by Russian Standards, it would never be enough.  When the cash began running short, Alexi became more demanding. 

Had it not been that he was Alexi’s childhood friend, he would be dead, if not disfigured by now.  Alexi was not a patient man and did not allow for failure in his organization.  As a lesson, he had personally disemboweled one of his own men in front of Isaak for failure to deliver a package when told to do so.  A lesson Isaak took to heart. 

He had only one way to repay Alexi, provide him with information from the A.N.G.E.L. project.  He knew that Alexi was selling this same information for 10 times what he owed him and yet he still demanded more.  He employed Illyana in gathering the information and she was failing him as well. 

During the past two weeks, the message traffic from Illyana had slowed, his concern growing.  She was not delivering as promised, he thought.  Something had gone very wrong.  Either she was exposed or she had developed a conscience.  Either way it was a disaster for Isaak.  All attempts at contact had failed and Alexi Kreschenko’s patience had reached its apex.  The promised delivery was a failure.

  Alexi’s clients were not as forgiving and if push came to shove, Alexi would protect his own interests, no recriminations befalling him, leaving Isaak to the cold, a cold more bitter than any Russian Winter could ever bring.

He had managed to keep Alexi at bay, but time was running out, and to save his a*s, he’d have to act.  

Stepping inside, he welcomed the heat from the old fireplace as the waves of warmth washed over him.  He would like nothing better than to sit in his favorite chair, drink himself into oblivion, and relinquish all his cares to the bottle on which he’d become so dependent.  It would be so easy. 

They would find his body, embalmed by the quantity he knew it would take to push him past the threshold in another life, but he knew he never would.  The narcissism running deep through his veins, the vanity and hunger for power, which had driven him for so many years, was his bane in this.  Keeping him from the easy escape that he knew he would welcome. 

He would have to leave for New York immediately to fix this problem personally. 

June 17, 2049 – 0245 Hours (Local Time) U.N Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

The elevator stopped and the doors slid silently open.  Desdin began the walk to the security office, his stride measured as if to keep pace with the whirling in his mind He was beginning to make the transition from the subdued security officer, which he worked so hard to maintain, to that of a highly trained deadly covert operative.  His thoughts devolving to that place in which, not so long ago, he lived and breathed as if an extension of his very soul. 

Each step of the mission began to form in his mind’s eye, getting out of the complex; acquiring transportation, arriving at the area of operation, finding Rathborn’s location, and extricating him to safety were all the beginning. 

Approaching the security office door, he pulled his badge from his waistband, scanned it, and keyed in the authorization code, pushing the door open and stepping in, barely missing a stride in his step. 

His second, Capt. Abraham Jackson, U.S. Army, was a little startled seeing Desdin walk through the door so quickly, seeing only an unknown person dressed in all black.  He rapidly drew the HK USP 9MM pistol from the shoulder holster beneath his left arm with his right hand, pointing the weapon directly at Desdin’s midsection.  “Halt,” he shouted, sliding from his chair into a crouched combat stance.

  It only took a few seconds for the young captain to realize who had walked in and lowered his weapon, jumping to his feet, holstering the weapon. 

Saluting him, he spoke, “Sorry, Sir.  I didn’t recognize you right away.”

Desdin was quite impressed with Abraham’s quick response and handling of the situation.  “Don’t apologize for doing your job, Captain.  I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

“Yes, Sir.  Mind if I ask why you’re dressed like that, covert mission or something?”

“Something like that, Captain.  At this point, the less you know the better,” was Desdin’s response.  Setting the case and pack on the floor, Desdin sat.  “Have a seat, Captain.  I need to talk to you for a minute.”

“Yes, Sir” was the only response as the young captain take a seat next to Desdin, turning to face him.

“Captain, what I’m telling you goes no further than this room.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir.  Very clear.”

“Good.  I have to leave the compound on official government business and no one is to know of my whereabouts.  I will relieve you of that trouble by not telling you where I am going.  I will return in a few days, barring any unforeseen circumstances.  Should you need have an emergency,” Desdin continued, pulling a piece of paper from the velcroed pocket on his sleeve, “you can reach me at the number on this paper.  Leave a message and I will get back to you as soon as possible.  I am leaving you in charge of the complex.  Before I leave, I will have an authorization letter to that fact.  Do you have any questions?”

“No, Sir.  Normal Standing orders apply?’

Standing, Desdin turned and headed for his office with the security offices quadrant, “Yes, Captain.  Give me five and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Not waiting for a reply, Desdin continued to his office; let’s hope that nothing goes wrong.  I’d hate to dump all this responsibility on this kid. 

Pulling the key ring from his pocket, he found the key for his door, and opened it, flipped the light on, stepped inside and closed the door behind him.  Pulling the chair away from the desk, he sat down and scooted closer, tapping the power switch on the power strip located beneath his desk with the tip of his right shoe.  The monitor on his desk flared to life and he waited, pondering the mission to come, while his computer finished its boot up process.  Less than sixty seconds elapsed and the screen showed the user login prompt. 

He would need to create two documents; one giving the Captain full authority while he was gone, and the second; an emergency action plan for the captain should he fail at his mission.  He didn’t expect anything to go wrong, besides the normal that stuff that always went wrong, but he had to be prepared in case. 

He logged into the system and within minutes had finished, printed, and signed the first document, placing it in an envelope for the captain.  The second would take a little longer.  This was not standard for him, so he had to be careful and think of all the possibilities on how the Captain would handle the situation, including that of his demise.”  He decided to write it in standard memo format, keeping it as clear and concise as possible,

TOP SECRET, NATO, EYES ONLY for CAPTAIN ABRAHAM JOHNSON

Date: November 25, 2038

To: Abraham Jackson, Capt, USA, United Nations Security Detachment Supervisor

From: Desdin Reutger, Lt. Colonel, United Nations Assistant Security Chief

Subj: Emergency Action Plan

Captain,

Since you are reading this letter, a problem has occurred.  As I have not returned, it means either my mission was compromised, or I have been killed.  On either account, you are ordered to perform the following actions:

If I have not returned with, or you have not had contact with Colonel Rathborn, you must gather a group of three men, including yourself, locate and retrieve Colonel Rathborn and any information in his possession

You must locate Dr. Gabriel Scott and any information, which he may has in his possession, and return to the facility.

You are hereby authorized to use Deadly Force in the accomplishment of your mission.  Any interference is to be terminated with extreme prejudice.

If questioned by higher authority, you are to disavow any knowledge of my leaving the compound or any information concerning my mission.

You are to go to my quarters and retrieve the hard disk from my safe and turn it over to the Director of the United Nations.  No other person is authorized to receive it.  Should this information fall into the wrong happens, the s**t will hit the fan.

Desdin Reutger
Lt. Colonel, UN Security Operations

 

He reviewed the letter one last time before printing it.  Pulling it from the tray, he folded it carefully and slid it into a secure envelope, sealing it with Top Secret Classification Tamperproof tape.  Placing the envelope into the secure messaging transport container, S.M.T.C as they called it, he closed the lid and keyed in the six-digit security code, selecting Captain Jackson’s as the receiving authority, which would require retinal verification.  If anyone besides Jackson tried to open the container, the contents would be vaporized by a high intensity plasma grid within the container. 

Only one thing left to do.  He erased the documents on the computer and shut it down.  As he pushed away from the desk, he grabbed the envelope and security transport container, and exited the room, pulling the door closed behind him. 

Captain Jackson heard the office door close and swiveled in his chair in the direction of the noise.  Seeing Desdin walking toward him he quickly came to attention, and saluted; Desdin returned the salute and responded, “As you were, Captain.  Here is the letter giving you full authority over the facility while I am away,” as he handed the envelope to Abraham, “And in here are the other instructions,” holding the SMTC out for Abraham to grab, “keyed only to your retina.  You know the drill.  The access code is 658486.  Memorize and do not write it down anywhere.  Should I not return, you are to open this and retrieve the document inside, following the instructions to the letter.  Any questions?”

“No, Sir.  You can count on me.”

Desdin knew the Captain would follow the orders, without fail or question.  He had come to trust him over the past year, and there was none more loyal. 

“Good, Captain.  Again, do not breathe a word to anyone in regards to my whereabouts.  If anyone gives you a hard time about anything, show them this letter.  You are hereby authorized to perform all duties of the security chief of this station.  Good luck.”

“Good luck to you, as well, Sir.  See you soon.”

“Let’s hope so, Captain.  Let’s hope so”, was Desdin’s only response as he grabbed the case and pack from the floor and exited out the main door to the lobby of the facility.

June 17, 2049 – 0425 Hours (Local Time) U.N Research Facility – Stone Mountain, Ga.

The stabbing pain in Illyana’s stomach woke her from the restless sleep.  Bleary eyed, she glanced at the small alarm clock on her dresser.  4:25 a.m.  She had missed the nightly message run, failing to deliver again. 

This was the third day in a row she had not reported anything to Isaak and she was beginning to feel the pressure.  She had received 10 phone calls from Geneva Headquarters, another 7 from Moscow, which she knew were directly from Isaak, and another four from New York.  She knew of no one from New York and this began to worry her further. 

Message traffic had been received requesting that she provide an immediate status, and Dr. Holiday had been notified of the problem.  To further complicate things, Desdin had seen the messages, which were destined for Isaak, and she wondered if he realized what he had seen.  He’s not an idiot.  If he doesn’t know what it was, he’ll soon figure it out. 

The cobwebs began to clear in her head as she forced herself to rise from the bed, the acid rising from her stomach to burn her esophagus, the stabbing pain a constant reminder of her betrayal, that betrayal manifesting itself within her own body as it revolted against her.  She knew that she would have to do something soon.  Either contact Isaak and tell him that she was finished and hope that he would relinquish her  bond to him, which she knew was highly unlikely, or she could reveal to Gabriel what she had been doing, and hope that his wrath was not as strong as that of Isaak’s.  Either choice would be disastrous, and could prove fatal, especially if Isaak believed his position was in jeopardy.  She knew her countrymen too well.  Isaak Morikov was a lethal man.  He would never allow anything or anyone to stand in his way, especially Illyana.  With Gabriel not to be found, Desdin suspicious of her activities, and Dr. Holiday informed of her failure, though he didn’t understand the significance, she concluded that she only had one option remaining.  Tell Isaak that the deal was off and hope for the best.  She had to act.

The mixture of smells coming from the lab coat she was still wearing threatened to make her sick again, the chemicals from the lab, food she had spilled while busily working and the remains of the episode, which had occurred earlier, all became overpowering.  Shedding the garment, stiff from the substances embedded in its fibers, she pulled it from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor at her feet.  She had worked 36 hours straight, and had not bothered to remove her clothes after she had run to her room to deal with what were daily bouts with her hyperactive digestive system.  Pulling the vomit-encrusted blouse over her head, she tossed it to the floor as well, the pungent odors of two-day-old sweat and vomit mixing to form a noxious trail that wafted into her face.  Fighting back the gag reflex, to which she had still not grown accustomed, she untied the dirty green scrub pants pushing them and her panties down, adding to the heap of clothing on the floor.  Quickly pulling her socks off, she added to the malodorous pile of clothing.  Breathing through her mouth, blocking the airflow through her nose, she reached down, scooped the pile of clothing, and moved quickly to bathroom, depositing it in the laundry chute, leading to the laundry one floor down.  The cleaning staff is not going to be happy, but that’s what they go paid for. 

She welcomed the sting of the hot water, the pulsating beads reviving her, washing away the smell of the previous few days.  She had begun to let her hygiene slip lately, focusing only on her problems, only slowly becoming aware of the discomfort her presence caused others, watching how they avoided any close contact with her.  This isn’t like you, Illyana.  You need to get it together.”  She couldn’t help but think of how much disappoint and anger her betrayal would cause once revealed, but that would be far less bad than what Isaak would do to her.  She focused on the task at hand, clear your head, Illyana.  You have to do this.”  

Instead of rushing, she consciously slowed to cleanse herself, washing her hair methodically, scrubbing the dirt and smell from her body.  More relaxed, she stepped from the shower, and reached for the towel hanging on the rack.  She didn’t see the puddle of water that had leaked from the seal at the base the shower door.  The bare tile floor provided her no traction as her right foot slipped forward, sending her careening toward the wall. 

Attempting to catch herself, her right hand shot out, desperately reaching out and grabbing the towel bar, only to have it detach from the wall as her left foot met the slippery floor.  With her legs flailing out in front of her, and her upper body falling, her backwards momentum sent her torso crashing to the floor.  With a sickening thud, her head slammed against the hard tiled floor, sending small splatters of blood in all directions, as the back of her head was split open from the severe impact of her entire body weight forced against thin flesh protecting her skull.  Illyana grasped for consciousness but could not reach it, her world fading into an evil blackness.