| Bęte Noire | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 29 2008, 09:26 PM (228 Views) | |
| PMD14 | Mar 29 2008, 09:26 PM Post #1 |
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This is really old school stuff so don't expect much. It's one of the first things I wrote, a few years ago now. I bet someone will pick up on the NCIS references. Oh, and sorry if it's messy. Just straight from a word doc and I can't be bothered to format it for the forum. Enjoy. ---------- Bęte Noire Paris, France De Fielde Estate 2259 hours The French guard breathed another puff of grey cigarette smoke into the night air. And just like it’s brothers, the small cloud of smoke was quickly stolen away by the gentle night’s breeze, leaving the air clean again. The man, a small, though bulky, assault rifle trained across his chest, stood huddled outside the huge building. He wore thick gloves, large combat boots, a beret and full black clothing. Underneath the uniform was a bulletproof vest, followed by few layers of clothing. It was, after all, a cold night to be standing alone in the street. The street was long, straight, and dark. Ever here and there stood a short lamppost, illuminating a tiny part of the path. Otherwise the street was cloaked in darkness. It was the perfect place for one to do an act one did not want others to see… or hear. The man, though quite short, seemed fairly well built. He had large bulky arms and legs just the same. However, the cigarette in his hand was the only thing that didn’t fit in. For some reason, the guard just didn’t seem to be the type to smoke. But what difference did it make now? After all, he was a dead man. However, it wasn’t cancer that took the man’s life. For the street he was guarding wasn’t totally empty. Moving in the shadows, each stepped muffled by his expertise, another man approached. He too was wearing all black, though looked very, very different. His hair, even though it was jet black, was covered by a black beanie. He wore loose, baggy black pants, and a black, long sleeved shirt. And gloves. Though they weren’t as thick and warm as the guard’s, this new man also wore black gloves. He certainly looked out of place, wearing such little clothing on such a cold night. But the weather, the breeze nipping at his ankles, didn’t seem to deter the man at all. He had a task to do, and nothing was about to stop him from doing so. The guard never had a chance. One moment he heard a noise from behind him, the next he was on the ground in his own blood, a halo of red seeping out around his head. The second man, now standing freely in the light, jammed a fresh clip into his silenced Sig Sauer. Even though he had used only one bullet of the available ten, this assassin would never continue without a fully loaded gun. It was a habit he had; to always be prepared. This man, tall and slim and fast, was Ari Rutowski. He had dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair. An assassin. He originated from the United States where he had been raised and educated, but by the age of twenty he had left to live in France. Now, at the age of twenty-nine, Ari was a professional mercenary. He assassinated, he robbed, he kidnapped, he tortured. If there were a reward in store for him, a job would be done. He didn’t much mind what it was. Thus, Ari definitely wasn’t a poor man. This made him different from other assassins and the like, for most do what they do to earn a living. Ari, however, never paid a cent for anything in his life. From homes, to food, to weapons, to clothes, Ari always found a money-free solution to every situation, whether it was a civilised solution or not. Now, years after he had been officially recognised as an assassin, Ari Rotowski stood before the De Fielde Estate, a manor owned by one of France’s top twenty richest men. Jaquese De Fielde was a very wealthy man, thus he had many enemies. Ari was not one, though. No, Ari was just a messenger. So the game began. Ari had taken out the front guard with a single bullet, and now he was ready to continue. Entering the huge manor, which stood four stories high, Ari smiled. It was amazing what the rich would do just to clarify that they are just that. The entrance hall was magnificent. The walls were covered in portraits and pictures, all drawn by famous artists of the world. Suits of armour guarded the main door into the hall and a large, wide, marble staircase led up to the second floor landing. But in the center of the room stood the most interesting piece of all. A fountain, almost six feet high, made of marble as well. It was a statue of three angels spinning around a pillar, on the top of which was a moon. The little angels had wings and halos. It looked, to Ari, like a scene from heaven itself. And finally, out of the top of the moon-pillar came four jets of water, splashing out gently in the four directions of North, South, East and West. Just like heaven, Ari thought, smiling, as he passed the fountain. Too bad I’ll never get to visit the place. Ari, his gun in hand, walked through the hall and headed straight up the stairs, his feet silent. As he arrived on the second floor, he knew it was his target. All there was left to do was find the right room. However, Mr Fielde wasn’t the target on this night. The target was in fact a guest at the manor, an American businessman staying with the lord. This seemed strange, Ari had first thought, for the target to be a mere businessman. Why kill a guest when you’re in the presence of such a powerful man? But instructions were instructions, and as always Ari was to follow them. His employer had told him who to kill, how, and when. All the assassin has to do was carry it out. And he would, in due time. But first, he thought he’d have a little poke around. It could do no harm to see if there was anything worth taking, seeing as there was no time limit and the pay wasn’t quite… well, grand. The man who had hired Ari, a French man, had offered a grand sum of eight hundred thousand for the head of the American businessman. Ari had negotiated, successfully as always, to raise the price to one million. This wasn’t too much, but it was something both of them could live with. Thus, looking for some extra value in the Fielde manor couldn’t cause any harm. Therefore, gun in hand and at the ready, the dark assassin moved down the hall, checking in every room as he went. All seven rooms were bedrooms, and of the seven only two were in use. In one, obviously the master bedroom at the head of the hall, was a sleeping Lord Fielde. And in the other, tow doors from the master room, was a sleeping businessman. Ari knew, just from seeing him, that this was the man he was after. The other five rooms were vacant and dark. Nothing of value, either. It was then, as the assassin approached the stairs to go up, that he stopped and turned around. “Ah, screw it. One mill for one night aint bad.” He whispered to himself, an American accent still strong. But still, after telling himself to let go, Ari glanced up the stairs again. Finally, after pondering for a few moments, he shook his head. “No.” And he headed back down the hall, towards the bedroom his target was peacefully sleeping in. As he walked into the bedroom, a old fashioned lantern burning beside the bed, something in Ari’s pocket moved. He almost had a heart attack. Coming to his senses, however, the assassin realised it was his pager. Pulling the small gadget from his pocket, the man swore. “Why do I bring this stupid thing on my jobs anyway?” As his dark eyes fell on the screen, however, Ari realised the answer to just that: Plan changed. No longer willing to pay. Deal off. Ari, swearing more than once under his breath, heard the banging of car doors from outside. He briskly jumped across to the room’s window, throwing his pager back into his pocket, and took a glance out onto the street. But he wasn’t looking at the street. In stead, outside the window was a small carpark, located at the back of the manor. This was bad, Ari thought. He was panicking, losing his sense of direction. However, the scene outside was worse. Three vans. One black, the other tow dark green. Beside each were three men, adding up to nine in total. All wore black, all held guns. More guards. The captain of the team, Malcom Charles, was a fierce looking man. Sure, he was old, but he was fierce. He was the tallest member of the nine-man security squad, and therefore had the biggest gun. His face was wrinkled with age and expertise, a bushy, brown mustache grown nicely upon his top lip. He looked, truthfully, like an ex army soldier. A veteran. “Ok men. You know the drill. I want three and six on the fire escape, watching closely. Any movement you give ‘em hell. Therefore, I don’t want anyone near those stairs.” Malcom’s voice had a rich, strong, French accent, though he spoke perfect English. Two of the black clad men nodded, both holding long rifles with scopes, and headed off towards the vans. Before long, the two were on top of the vans, sweeping the area with their weapons. “Then, I want five, eight, nine and two with me. We take the back door. Finally, I want seven and four at the front door. Don’t enter until I give the word. Got it?” The remaining men nodded and loaded their weapons. Charles, his gun ready to rock, looked up at the building. Somewhere in there was an assassin. A man trying to kill his employer. And, as the De Fielde Estate security chief, it was his job to prevent just that. It had only been a few minutes earlier that an anonymous caller had claimed that an assassin had entered the building. Little did Malcom know, though, that caller had sent the assassin too. Ari swore over and over. Shut up, his mind screamed, you can do this. This is easy. “Can I? When was the last time I was in this kind of-?” Just focus. Remember Las Vegas? Remember the casino? “That was different!” Ari hissed to himself, glancing out the window again as the team of men split up. “I had more room there! This time it’s so sm-!” You can do this! I know you can, and you know you can. Just look for the exits. Look for the doors. Looks for the safe way out. “It’s not going to be a walk in the park! They are trained security! This is a tiny estate. They take one floor at a time until I’m cornered. And if that doesn’t happen, blam! My head gets taken by a sniper outside!” Ari started to breathe heavily. He had to calm down. He went to the door of the room, peering out. Just then, a loud bang sounded on the floor level as the front door was blown off it’s hinges. In came the guards, guns up and flashlights on. Ari, not knowing what else to do, jumped out from hiding and left loose his bullets. His gun, silenced, spat it’s rounds down on the law enforcers. But no missiles hit. Ari ducked back inside, happy to know that there were only two men. So far. Are you insane!? You’re in big trouble now! How the hell are you going to get out now? “Shut up!” This time the assassin’s voice was a little louder. He stopped, holding his breath and covering his mouth for good measure. All he could hear was his own heartbeat. Then, a voice came from down stairs. It was a voice. “This is four. We have been fired upon form second landing and have reason to believe that there is more than one hostile.” Oh great… “I’m talking to myself…” Ari whispered, his brow becoming sweaty. “Talking… to myself…” Malcom, his four men armed and ready behind him, picked the lock on the back of the manor and slipped in as silently as he possibly could. In a few seconds, he came to a doorway that was already open. It led into the main hall where he got a side view of, crouching and moving slowly, his two men who had entered via the front door. “I copy that, soldier. I have a visual of you now. We’re to your left. But don’t look. Advance. I’ll have your back.” He watched as the man in the hall nodded, not risking a glance to his left, and motioned to his companion to move up the stairs. Malcom then turned to the guards behind him. “Two and five. I want you two to go around the house and reach that room over there.” He pointed across the hall to an open door to the left of his two front men. Five nodded and he left, a second guard following. “Ok men. Get ready to move in. Let’s take this son of a b**** down!” Ari strained his ears, listening to the noise downstairs. To an average person, the voices would appear as nothing. But Ari had trained his hearing for a long time. Though he couldn’t make out any words, her could visualise where the guards were. Two were coming up the stairs, more at the left exit and at least tow more travelling underneath the assassin’s current location. Thing’s were not looking good. Ok, you’re going to have to get out. But how? Your exit is now blocked, and if you leave through a window there are bound to be snipers. What do you do? “I’m thinking, damn it!” Think harder. Remember the floor plan. Remember… “Remember what?!” Remember the floor plan. Then it clicked. And Ari smiled. Now, he could remember the floor plan. Very clearly. And the escape route was now obvious. But how would he reach it. He had to make it to the fourth floor, but right now he was stuck in a dead end on the second. You know how to do it. You just have to follow your plan. “What friggen plan? I didn’t have a plan for getting trapped!” Silence. “Aww, come on!” But the conversation, albeit only a mental thought, was over. Ari didn’t know what he was meant to do, only what he could do. But would it work? There was only one way to find out. He reached down to his boot, fingering his gun’s trigger, and pulled out a small, sharp knife. Perfectly weighed for throwing. He turned to the sleeping businessman, breathing deeply. “If you turn out to be the cause of my end, old man, I’m going to be very pissed.” The two guards on the stairs, four and seven, held their guns to their shoulders, eyes on the scopes. If there was any movement, the two security guards would tear the hall apart with their machine-gun fire. If there was any movement. So far, however, nothing had happened since the first harmless shots had been fired from the second floor. But something did happen, just then. Something very unexpected. It was lucky the tow men were shocked and temporarily ceased fire, for they would have regretted fire on the target. From around the corner, screaming for his life, came the American businessman. Though the guards didn’t know it, the man was doing just as the assassin had told him. “I’ll be watching, so don’t try to screw me old man. You just run from here to those stairs over there. You stop when your out of sight of the guards.” Ari was very calm as he spoke. “You try to screw it up, I put a bullet in that ugly mug of yours. Yeah?” The man had just nodded, a gun pointed at his forehead. Now, half-acting, half-terrified, the businessman screamed his way across the landing. The guards, though they should have, didn’t expect a thing. They followed the man with their guns, watching him run. Neither saw Ari appear from the room, also running across the landing. However, he was quiet. Splash! One of the guards was knocked off his feat as the side of his head exploded, a bullet entering his ear. The second man, whirling around to see the assassin running, met his fate as a throwing knife split into his skull. Blood hit the floor before his body did. Ari smiled as he dived the last few steps, rolling forward and landing on his feet beside the American businessman. “Now. Shall we.” The assassin pointed up the stairs with his gun. The old man, quiet, simply stumbled up the stairs. Ari’s gun always trained on his hostage’s back, they were soon on the third level. “Tell me,” Ari spoke for the first time all night in a medium level, “are there any more guards on these higher levels. And if you lie, don’t expect to live.” The assassin smiled at his hostage as the man turned to look at him in horror. With a gesture of the gun, however, the couple kept moving. “N-no. No more guards, sir.” The businessman stumbled and stuttered as they moved. “Good.” “Tell me. W-why are you doing… this? Who a-are you?” The man was simply terrified. This fact made Ari feel good inside. He was doing his job. “Ok then, I’ll reason with you. My name is Ari. Whatever yours is, I don’t really care. I was sent here to kill you, god knows why, and no have been double-crossed and your friend’s guards tipped off. Now, I’m getting out of here.” Ari spoke calmly as they moved down the hall, almost at the next set of stairs. “And… and me? Are you taking m-me?” “Taking you? No. Course not.” Then Ari did something strange. He stopped. He stopped there in the hall, lowered his gun, and looked the businessman in the eyes. “Your really scared, aren’t you?” “Y-yes, sir.” “Well.” Ari wasn’t sure what to say. He was almost feeling sorry for the man. Almost. Come on! Let’s get going! “Let me tell you this. I don’t know you. I don’t care who you are. I, myself, don’t even have anything against you. I am simply doing my job. Now. Seeing as my employer thought my job would be better done by someone else, quite literally over my dead body, I have no purpose for you. Therefore, I have no intention of killing you. Thus, I won’t. Unless, of course, you give me reason to.” Ari was speaking quickly and quite matter-of-factly. “Therefore, you have no reason to fear me. Ok? If you be a good boy, this will all seem like a bit of Bęte Noire tomorrow. So, let’s just get this over with and you can be on your way. Ok?” The man was still shivering, but the assassin believed he had gotten through to his hostage. “Bęte Noire, sir?” “You don’t speak French?” “N-no, sir.” “Oh. Well, Bęte Noire is simple. It means nightmare.” Malcom Charles, what was left of his team behind him, began to climb the stairs to level three. He gripped hid gun tightly, getting ready for some kind of ambush. “Get ready, men. Expect anything. I want this b**** dead. Don’t hesitate, no matter what.” He took each step so slowly, half fearing what he might see on the next floor. Finally, reaching the top of the stairs, the captain took a deep breath, pulled his rifle up high and leapt around the corner. “Clear.” Ari, with the American in front still, arrived on the fourth floor second earlier. Now, knowing that the team was just below, the assassin began to run. “You can leave, now. I’m done with you.” He said simply to the businessman, throwing a smile over his shoulder as he ran off down the hall. The man, shocked, just stood there and watched Ari disappear into a room. The assassin slipped into the room, and instantly knew it was the right one. It was a living room with big sponging couches and a large plasma T.V. However, on one wall was his final target. A good old fire place. His ticket to freedom. Walking over to the fireplace, Ari ducked down into it and looked up. He could see the stars outside, though most of them were hidden by cloud, and hoped he would have enough time to get out. Now for the dirty part… “Yep. Now for the dirty part…” For the first time in the night, Ari agreed with himself. Malcom stormed up the stairs, gun raised. Again, however, there was no assassin. Just a shocked businessman. The captian, after checking the hall, approached him. “Where’d he go?” He whispered, looking the man in the eyes. “The second room… on the left, sir.” Malcom nodded, gesturing to the room. The guards moved up to the door, ready to storm it. Their guns high, their torches now off. The captain turned, his hand held up. Slowly, he began counting off the fingers until he had one left. Then, taking another deep breath, he dropped his right index finger. “Go!” It was definitely annoying for the captain. He had come so close. He had had the man cornered and all. Then, when things were going fine, two of his men fell. On pursuit, the captain just couldn’t find his man. And all the while, as he researched the entire building, lord Feilde still sleeping, Ari silently slipped off the roof, using a water pipe as a handhold, and landed on the empty street below. Due to the triangular roof of the manor, the snipers out in the back carpark had been unable to see Ari as he exited the chimney and made his escape. Now, walking down the silent, cold, dark streets of Paris, his gun away, Ari had only one thing to think about. One thing that he and his conscious both agreed on. Revenge. |
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