TMA: Agent Moon Ch. 02

The girl stepped closer. "So, um . . . why're you speaking to me?" she asked.

Dylan looked upon her.Why, indeed,he thought. His eyes gave her a soft look. "Maybe I enjoy talking to you," he said.

Betty blushed, both upon her cheeks and the tops of her breasts. "Mr. Lord . . . ."

He chuckled at her response, but at the same time wondered,why am I flirting with her?

He heard a tiny ping from his implant, indicating that Corinna wanted to talk to him. Instinctively, he looked around, hoping to find his 'wife.' But she remained hidden within the crowd. He took out his cigarette case, turned from Betty. "Excuse me," he said.

The girl shifted on her feet, looking expectant and perhaps a little embarrassed. "Um . . . sure."

Dylan opened the case, holding it up as he took a cigarette from it. ~What's going on, Corinna?~

~Rectifiers on your mark,~ she returned. ~Three and five o'clock, moving in. Get out of there. I'll stay on Craig.~

Dylan frowned, already feeling the adrenaline surging. ~All right,~ he sent, then snapped the case closed, after replacing his cigarette, and turned back to Betty. At the same time, he noticed two different men, clad in dark suits, approaching from his three and five o'clock positions. Both were somewhat similar, tall, well-built, with grease-backed hair and chiseled features. On was dark-haired with some vague Asian features in his face, the other blonde and All-American.

Even with the adrenaline pumping in his veins, yet Dylan maintained his composure. "Betty," he said. "I wonder if you might help me with something?"

Her eyes flickered a moment, then she smiled. "Sure," she said, and found an unoccupied corner of the banquet table upon which to set her tray. She straightened and looked to Dylan expectantly. She held her arms behind her back, which made her tantalizing breasts thrust out in an inviting way. "What do you need?"

He took her arm, steering her away from the table. "Show me through the halls," he said, leading her toward a side door from the ball room. It opened to a corridor, the walls lined with crates of wine and liquor. Betty trotted obediently beside him, giggling softly.

"You don't have to be that forceful, Mr. Lord," she said, pulling her arm away. She smiled sweetly. "All you hadda do was ask, and I'd come along with you."

Dylan didn't think about the implication of the girl's words. He was preoccupied, watching the door behind them, anticipating the pursuit of the two men Corinna had indicated. "We need to find a quiet place," he said.

Again, Betty giggled. She took his hand and pulled Dylan down a side corridor, then another, eventually coming to a door marked 'Maintenance.' "This oughtta work," she said, pushing the door open. She pulled on a chain hanging from the ceiling, and light filled the room. Betty closed the door, then faced Dylan as he leaned against the wall. He settled his hand upon the knob of the closed and now locked door, listened through it.

"Stay quiet," he whispered, not looking to the girl.

He heard her giggle again, much more subdued this time. "I'll try," she said in a breathy voice. Dylan stiffened instantly as he felt her hands on his hips, moving around to his backside. He gave her an alarmed look as Betty pressed her soft, voluptuous body against his, her breasts mashing against his chest. She smiled up at him at first, moist lips parted for a kiss, but the smile faded as she read his reaction.

"Oh . . . just fluff? Is that it?" she asked, backing off a bit. Her hands wandered to his belt. "That's okay. I do that, too."

Dylan was momentarily confused as this girl, this twenty-year-old, began undoing his belt. For a moment, he forgot about the two men following him. Realization dawned upon his mind with the brilliant flash of a thousand-watt bulb.

She's a damn prostitute!The shock flashed through his brain for a millisecond, before he grabbed Betty's wrists.

"What's wrong?" she asked, looking worried and scared. "Ain't this what you wanted?"

Dylan met her eyes, seeing something within them that was eerily familiar.Like looking into a mirror,he thought, although he could not understand why. At the same time, he heard footsteps outside the door, heard two men talking. Instinctively, he knew it was the men he had seen advancing toward him in the ball room.

"Betty," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I know you don't understand, but right now . . . shut up."

The girl blinked, her eyes flashing open wide. She jerked her hands back, crossed her arms over her breasts defensively. She said nothing as she retreated away, against the racks of towels on the wall behind her.

Dylan turned his focus from the girl, and listened again through the door. He caught bits and pieces of muffled conversation, something about 'finding him.' A hand tested the door from the other side. Dylan kept his grip loose as the knob twisted back and forth.

"Let's keep moving," he heard a muffled voice saying. "He's gotta be 'round."

Click, click . . .Dylan listened to the sounds of the men's heels as they began to step away. He glanced quickly to Betty, indicated silence with a finger against his lips. Then he jerked open the door.

The two men spun around quickly, hands flashing into their jackets automatically. But before they could sport their weapons, Dylan was upon them, calling upon decades of combat experience. Hands and feet landed swiftly, brutally, sending the two men sprawling to the floor within a matter of instants. They barely had time to grunt before they were rendered unconscious.

Betty emerged hesitantly from the small closet, intrigued by the sounds she had heard, to see Dylan crouched on the floor. She gasped as he lifted a nickel-colored .45-caliber pistol and racked the slide.

Dylan snapped his head around, meeting her eyes. "Don't ask," he said.

Betty sputtered, watching as 'Maxwell Lord' tucked two pistols into his waistband and drew his blazer closed. "Who are you?"

He faced her, his eyes hard. "I said, 'don't ask.'"

Betty swallowed nervously. "Um . . . okay. I just . . . I never seen anything like that before."

Dylan softened. "I know," he said. He approached Betty slowly, settled his hands on her shoulders. He could feel her quivering, yet at the same time, felt the girl mustering her strength. Her eyes were like rippling pools of water as they gazed up at him. "Can you do something for me?"

Betty shuddered, and she blinked, then nodded. "Yeah," she said.

Dylan gave his best reassuring, non-threatening smile. "I need you to go back to the ball room and forget—"

~Dylan!~

He jerked up, hearing Corinna's anguished voice in his head. ~Cori!~ he returned, adrenaline pumping anew. ~Are you all right?~

~I'm in the south stairwell!~ she replied through the implant. ~I've got three of them on me! Meet me in the garage! Hurry!~

Dylan had but a moment to consider his course of action. He gave Betty an intent look. "Go," he commanded, then urged her along the corridor. The young woman hesitated at first, chancing a worried and fearful glance back, but she nevertheless turned and ran down the hall. Dylan could only hope she would keep quiet about what she had seen.

For a moment, he looked back to the two unconscious men, finding it strange that they still lay there, breathing. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.They didn't disappear, he thought.If they're Rectifiers, why didn't they disappear?

He did not allow himself to dwell on it. A moment later, Agent Dylan Moon was running full-tilt down the corridor.

***

Dylan was glad he had access to the blueprints of the hotel through his implant. He was able to stick to service corridors and little-used hallways to reach the southern stairwell, then down the steps to the side door closest to the parking structure. Sweat was already dripping from his temples and forehead as he burst out into the September air.

It was a short sprint to the grey metal door in the nearest wall of the two-story structure, and before he was even halfway there, Dylan had both of the confiscated pistols in hand. ~Cori, I'm almost there. Talk to me.~

Her response was quick. ~Ground level, southeast corner,~ she sent. ~They don't know exactly where I am, but they're getting close. Down to two, now. I took one of them out. I'm armed, now.~

Dylan smiled proudly. ~I am, too,~ He carefully opened the side door and slipped into the darkness of the structure, crouching before the front end of an Oldsmobile coupe as he let his eyes adjust to the gloom. ~Took out the two following me in the kitchen hall. But they didn't disappear.~

~I know. I don't think they're Rectifiers.~

Dylan crept low along the wall, moving from car to car. He heard various echoing, distorted sounds through the large garage. ~Then why did we get signal locks on them?~

~We'll have to figure that out later, baby.~

Dylan nodded. ~Agreed. So . . . how do we deal with these guys?~

~I'll have that figured out in a sec. I've got Jasper on the line. He's analyzing their signatures.~

Dylan felt a moment's worth of mild amazement.Good thing we have resources,he thought. He darted through the shadows, keeping low behind the cars. Not far ahead, near the southeast corner of the garage, he heard scuffling movements. A pair of shapes moved with minimal stealth, stooping now and then to look beneath the cars. Even with the dim light, Dylan could make out the glint of metal on the slides of pistols held in their hands.

~I see them,~ he sent to Corinna. ~They're approaching your mark.~

~I know. I'm boxed in. Damn it!~ Dylan could feel the anxiety in his lover's thoughts. He watched as the two men stiffened, then parted, moving around either side of a pair of sedans. The motivation of their actions was obvious; they had found her.

~Cori!~

~Shit! Dylan!~

He did not think about his actions. He responded purely on instinct. Darting from his hiding place, Dylan ran down the center lane of the garage, coming up behind the two men. The loud slapping of his footfalls alerted them, causing them to turn around, bringing weapons to bear. But Dylan already had his pistols raised, trained on the two men. He pulled the triggers quickly.

The explosions reverberated painfully between concrete walls as muzzle flashes lit the air like torches. One of the men pitched back, geysers of blood erupting from his chest. He sprawled upon the ground, twitching and sputtering in pain. The other cried out, slapping a hand to his shoulder even as he fired off a round that bit impotently into the ceiling. He fell behind a car, out of Dylan's sight.

Dylan slid to a crouch behind that same car, his back against the spare tire case, both pistols held to either side of his head. ~One down.~

~Jesus, baby, you can't do that! These guys might have influenced the time stream!~

~We're still here, aren't we?~

There was a long pause. ~Well, you're lucky. These guys aren't Rectifiers, they're Walkers. That means we can kill them.~

Dylan frowned. ~What the hell's a Walker?~

~Tell ya later, baby,~ Corinna sent. A heartbeat later, Dylan heard a deafening report as a pistol was fired. It came from the other side of the car against which he leaned. Automatically, he spun around the edge, leveling the weapons in his hands.

Corinna stood over an unmoving body, smoke trailing from the pistol in her hand. She saw Dylan and smiled. "It's okay," she said.

Dylan let out a breath and stood, relaxing somewhat. He approached Corinna, watching as she held her 'compact' to her ear. "Thanks, Doc," she spoke into the device, then pressed one of the hidden buttons. She held up the compact, reading the screen.

"We're not out of the woods yet, baby," she said worriedly.

Dylan was on alert once more, stepping up beside Corinna so that he could see her screen. There were red blips all over the place, moving closer.

"This isn't good," he said, lifting his eyes and looking around. Judging by the positions on the screen, he figured their enemies were just outside the parking structure.

"They've never used this many Walkers," Corinna remarked, leading Dylan to a stairwell door. She added jokingly: "They must have called up the reserves."

"What are Walkers?" he asked, reloading the .45s as they ascended the stairs.

"People who should have died," Corinna said. "The Rectifiers find people in the past who, according to historical records, died. They fake their deaths, then nullify their minds with drugs and place them in suspended animation. They fit them with implants, then call them out whenever they need them. But they've never used more than a few. This is unprecedented."

Dylan mused thoughtfully as they stepped through the door on the second and topmost level of the garage. There were fewer walls, and therefore, more light. The countryside beyond the shadowy shapes of the vehicles was ironically peaceful.

"It's the implants that make them show up as Rectifiers, isn't it?" he asked.

Corinna nodded, snapping the compact closed and returning it to her purse. "Yeah. We're still trying to figure out a way to differentiate their signatures from real Rectifiers. But really, it doesn't matter." She met Dylan's eyes meaningfully. "We can treat them the same way we treat those mechanical bastards."

Dylan nodded, racking the slides of the pistols in turn. "Time to play dirty, then."

Corinna smiled despite the moment. "Damn, baby, you're sexy when you go into 'Dirty Harry' mode." She pulled herself against him and mashed her lips against his. The kiss was serious, passionate, almost desperate. She finally pulled back with a warm sigh leaving her lips. "I love you, Dylan," she whispered.

For a moment, Dylan was stunned by her proclamation. He stared into Corinna's eyes, but his chance to respond – not that he would have known how to at the moment – vanished as the door behind them burst open.

He reacted in a flash, spinning and positioning his body before Corinna's in the same fluid movement, raising his pistol. A dark suit, malevolent look, and threatening weapon were all he needed to see to tell him that the man who charged out was an enemy. I single shot to the forehead, eliciting a pinkish cloud that exploded from the other side, and the Walker was down.

Hurriedly, hearing more pounding footsteps in the stairwell, Dylan hurled his body against the door, slamming it closed. He looked to Corinna, ready to bark an order, but she was already busy with the simple lock on a Rolls Royce. Dylan braced his feet on the floor and held back the pounding at the door, giving Corinna the time it took to hotwire the car.

"Hurry it up!" cried Dylan, feeling the door open, just an inch or so, before he slammed it closed once more.

"Just need a sec!" yelled Corinna as she popped the hood of the Rolls. She reached inside the engine compartment with practiced hands. The car roared to life a moment later, and Corinna slammed the hood closed, scampering around behind the wheel. Her eyes were wide and furious as she looked to Dylan.

"Three!" he shouted.

Corinna nodded, pulling the door closed. She threw the car in gear. "Two!"

"One!" cried Dylan, leaping away from the door and toward the ground. He rolled onto his feet, facing the door, guns blazing. As he had expected, dark-suited shapes poured out, and the first few fell before his onslaught. Their bodies pitched and spasmed, blood spattering the walls and floor.

But Dylan did not watch the consequences of his actions. He was already running for the Rolls, hoping he had caused enough chaos to keep the remaining Walkers demoralized for a moment or two. Indeed, not a bullet chased him as he slid across the hood of the car and jerked open the passenger door. Immediately, Corinna plunged her foot down on the accelerator and guided the powerful car toward the ramp.

"Well, this is familiar," chuckled Dylan as he ejected the clips from his pistols.

Corinna smiled at him briefly as tires screeched outside. "I always love a good car chase," she said. Without being asked to do so, she set her pistol in Dylan's lap.

By the time the Rolls was roaring out of the garage on the bottom floor, Dylan had transferred their remaining bullets into two magazines, with a single bullet left over. He loaded two of the weapons, tossed the other out the window as Corinna drove down the gravel slope, away from the resort.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Away from here," responded Corinna, gripping the wheel tightly. The muscles of her arms showed the effort she made to control the vehicle.

"But what if they go after Craig?"

Corinna shook her head. "Walkers are simple-minded," she said. "They were sent to take us out and keep us from stopping the Rectifier from completing its mission."

Dylan nodded, understanding. "Which won't happen for another two days," he said.

Corinna nodded. "Exactly. So all we have to do is lure the Walkers away, ambush them, then we can go back."

"What about the bodies in the garage and hotel?"

She laughed darkly. "This is 1933," she said. "And there are a hundred or so 'connected' people staying in the hotel. Even though no one knows what the hell is going on, it'll be kept quiet."

Dylan smirked. "Just another gangland hit gone wrong, huh?"

Corinna's smile remained as she looked to him. In Dylan's memory, that moment would be nearly frozen, stretched out. For, as her lips parted to respond, thick blonde curls dancing slowly around Corinna's face, Dylan could see past her, out the driver-side window, as a large truck bounded out from a side road. The grill on the front end of the vehicle was so close that he could make out every scratch upon it.

The Rolls-Royce shuddered as the truck slammed into it. The two vehicles canted and spun, toward the edge of the road, which lay just a few feet from the edge of a thousand-foot drop to the valley below. Tires dug up dirt and gravel, metal screamed, engines roared. The world outside the canopy of the Rolls became a blur of dust, trees, and sky.

"Dylan! Jump!"

He braced his hands against the dash, watching Corinna in alarm. She was suddenly cradling her left arm against her, and Dylan could see blood. Her face was pained, yet she still managed to steer the large sedan one-handed. "I won't leave you!" he yelled.

"Jump,agent!" she roared, as sedan and truck careened to the edge of the cliff.

Dylan responded out of duty and self-preservation. He threw himself against the car door, knocking it open, and tumbled out onto the road. He grunted against the pain as his body was battered, and finally landed on his chest, looking up just as the Rolls-Royce and the truck listed violently off the edge of the cliff.

"No!" cried Dylan, impotently reaching out. But then both vehicles were gone, cascading out of sight. He could just see Corinna's anguished face through the windshield of the Rolls before it vanished.

~I love you, Dylan.~

Dylan squeezed his eyes closed as he lay upon the road. ~Corinna . . . .~

***

The party was over for the night; the majority of guests had left the ball room and bar, either retiring to their rooms or joining Louis and the band once more by the pool. Dylan was glad for the quiet at the moment; he was tired and numb, both physically and mentally. Corinna's death weighed heavily upon him, as well as the fact that the success of the mission now lay entirely on his shoulders. Dylan had thought to call Command during the walk, but he could not think of what to say.

He dragged his feet toward the ball room, watching as professionally-garbed employees cleaned up the tables. There were a few patrons at the bar, but with only the muffled, faint music wafting in through the halls from the pool, the cavernous ballroom was largely quiet.