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by Randall Orndorff, December 9th 2000
The other Lee-elements knew about his particular specialties, and of course his protectiveness, but none of them knew that Red Thomas was a very patient man. He could have taken over at least Cordelia's place when they were on the plane, and he could have taken full control when that Harvey denied them information, but instead he waited.
Lately, however, Red Thomas had been watching the Thing with Two Mouths. It hadn't stirred at all recently, but Thomas sensed a certain tension to it, almost sensual in nature. This concerned him deeply, so he decided to stay inside for a while to observe, rather than come out to play. Let Mycroft pull his own weight for a change, Thomas was busy.
In a certain sense, Thomas had become fascinated with the Thing. It, too, was a killer, and patient as well. Red Thomas felt a certain kinship. Of course, if Mycroft knew, he would probably disapprove, maybe while quoting Freud, or Nietchze. On the other hand, Mycroft hadn't been speaking with it, either.
The Thing had been whispering almost exclusively to Red Thomas for a while now. At first, it hadn't made any sense, but Thomas had been patient, of course, and had recently begun to Comprehend. It would have been dangerous for the others, but they weren't as strong as Thomas. He could handle it, and besides, Thomas knew that the better one knew an enemy, the better he would be able to kill it. Everything was coming together now. Everything was falling into place.
* * *
The man now known as Robert Hubert examined himself in the mirror. His white suit was spotless, his tie unstained, his teeth were gleaming white, and his golden hair parted perfectly. Still, something was wrong. He sniffed the air inquisitively. The stench was overpowering. He choked briefly before recovering.
There was a brief knock on his office door, which swung open almost silently on well-oiled hinges. A well-dressed middle-aged man poked his head in.
"Sir? There's someone here to see you. His name is..."
"Harvey?", Hubert interrupted, and the man nodded, "Good, I thought I smelled him. Send him in."
The man ducked back around the door, and Harvey stepped inside, closing it behind him.
Hubert glanced briefly at the man, and then resumed admiring his own form in the mirror.
"Do you have time? I'm sure your comrades will miss you."
"I'm meeting them in half an hour. I have news. The Brotherhood of Mouths wanted you dead. I don't know why, although I don't really hold it against them. It doesn't matter now. I killed them. Are we even?"
Hubert smiled.
"Getting right to business, eh? A man after my own heart. Very well, yes, we are even. In fact, Stephen asked me to take some action on your behalf, as a kind of parting gift."
Harvey's expression didn't change, but his body tensed involuntarily.
"What have you done?"
Hubert's smile widened. The worm was still on the hook.
"I made arrangements for Hardigan's plane to be hijacked. He was going in the right direction, but on the wrong track."
Harvey's jaw clenched and his face grew red.
"What the hell do you mean? We needed him in South America."
Hubert's smile disappeared, replaced by an animal snarl, as he turned to gaze at Harvey.
"No, you need him in Antarctica, and that's exactly where he's going..."
* * *
Hardigan stirred in the corner of first class, his face a bloody mess from where one of the thugs had smashed him with the butt of his pistol. He had at first pretended to know nothing of the document, but after some violent persuasion had reluctantly given it over. Inside, he kicked himself for doing so. The Rite could very dangerous in either educated or ignorant hands.
The plane shook suddenly, and for the first time, the man who called himself Torsten showed uncertainty. . Torsten spun and began to bark orders in German to Carsten. Hardigan watched intently, waiting for an opportunity.
Carsten moved towards the cockpit and opened the thin door that led within.
He gazed inside for a moment, then stepped backwards, tripping on the carpeting and almost falling. Torsten pushed him aside, then stood there, for the first time not knowing how to react.
The pilot's skeletal hand still gripped the wheel as he had a moment before, while the co-pilot's remains were slumped over the many dials and switches that made up the console. The man Torsten had left there to keep tabs on the two men lay on the floor, his bones exposed through his black clothes which now looked worn as if through much use. There was no blood, or flesh for that matter anywhere, only old bones in ragged cloth. It was as though they had been entombed here for centuries. As Torsten scanned the rest of the cockpit, he noticed that even the dials that had been spotless showed signs of rust, and several didn't even seem to be working condition anymore.
Torsten's reverie was broken by Hardigan's horse laugh from behind him. The terrorist turned and walked over to him, leveling the gun at the bleeding man as he did so.
"What is so amusing that you would risk your life to laugh?"
Not able to help himself, Hardigan laughed again, this time at the futility of the German's threat.
"It would seem we've been hijacked again, and we have a new destination."
Torsten cocked an eyebrow.
"And where would that be?"
Hardigan smiled through the blood, pain, and fear. He was moving into the realm he was familiar with. The place within him that was born when he had joined Delta Green.
"Antarctica, Torsten. The World's End."
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