Chapter 14

The scout had left Rainier, or now Bleu, alone to toil away in thought. Bleu knew he would probably have to kill the kid. It was an obvious first step of a trained spy, but could he actually kill him? He knew he had hesitated before, and if he were to hesitate again, he might not have such a lenient sentence bestowed upon him. Even if he could kill him, how would he fish the handcuff keys from the corpse's pocket? He would have to kill the kid when he leaned over his bed. Impossible. With such a small razor blade, his best bet in a successful kill would be to place a pillow over the scout's face while he was asleep and slice his common carotid artery or his wrists. Hold the pillow firmly down and watch the kid die in his own blood. Then he'd be soaked and have to disguise as him. Then he had no clue where he was going in this labyrinth of a base.

He had to wait.

Still watching the door, he felt the mattress of his bed with his free wrist. It was a single thin mattress, but underneath he could have sworn was a bottom layer of metal. Shaking fingers silently maneuvered the thin blade from his pocket to the side of the mattress. Sure he had felt the cold metal with his pinky-finger, he let the razor slip between his fingers into the crevasse underneath.

Tink.

Oh no. No, no, no, this was not supposed to be happening to him! There was metal underneath his mattress, but it was not solid. The delicate blade had just fallen to the tile floor below him. It was right under his bed, and here he was stuck with this stupid pair of handcuffs!

Desperate, Bleu shifted his focus to the handcuffs he knew the scout had put back on loosely in his distracted trance. The silver cuff sat thickly around the middle of his hand. If he could just pinch his thumb down enough to slip the metal off, he could avoid killing the scout all together and just deal with the aimlessly lost part of his escape plan. Steal the baseball bat that lay abandoned on the larger bed across from him, and take the kid's clothes. He knew he was weaker than normal, but to avoid such a rare opportunity was a decision between life and death.

The cuff easily slipped from his hand and swung lifelessly from the rail. With renewed energy, Bleu swept his feet from beneath the blankets and swung his weight from the bed. The fear of the immense height gone from his adrenaline rush, he slipped from the bed's edge only to collapse onto the floor. The noise alone from a man hitting tile might have anyone come barging into the room any second now. He had to hurry. Clawing up the side of the scout's bed, he flung himself over it's top. The familiar scent again filled his senses, but he ignored it and opted to pull back the sliding-door of the closet from his new seated position. A wardrobe of identical shirts and pants assaulted his eyes along with some really tacky shoes. Did this kid not know how to dress?

Wait...

He listened intently. Did he hear something outside the door? No, he must not have.

He returned to ripping a red long-sleeved shirt from a hanger and tearing his own shirt off. He slipped it on and focused on the next article of clothing. Wait, were these capris? They sure looked like brown capris to him, but with no other choice, he slipped his own pants off and slipped the brown 'capris' on. They really looked like cargo shorts on his tall lanky body, and the shirt he had put on barely reached the top of his pants. He then found some outrageously long, smelly socks lying next to a pair of foul smelling running shoes. The shoes were too big for some reason, and the smell was so bad that he silently gagged while putting them on. The last piece was the hat and half-mic set that lay abandoned on the scout's nightstand table.

He had to take his mask off.

Bleu sat quietly on the bed. He looked like a scout but felt like a mouse in a trap. Any second now, the trap would come down on his head and kill him.

The plug.

With great resolve, he slipped his thumbs under the mask's hem and pulled the cloth from his face. His mind raced to his reflection in the mirror. The dark circles and lines. The tousled dark-blonde hair. The disfigured ear. He sure hoped that the hat would cover a lot of his head with it's rim.

He slipped the mask into the front pocket of his pants, and stuffed his clothes deep under the scout's bed. He then clutched the hat and mic and placed them hazardously on his head, opting to expand the hat to help cover his hair, and the top of his eyes. Good. He should be okay to go. The only problem was physically walking out of this enormous base filled with enemies.

Bleu took hold of the large, metal baseball bat and positioned it by his foot to use as a rough crutch. It worked, allowing him to stand and hobble to the door he had seen the scout leave through earlier. Now clutching the door-frame for support, he listened intently. There was no way he would risk walking into someone so early in this dangerous game. There were no sounds he could decipher outside of the door. He had always trusted his sharp hearing when the desperation of espionage called for it, but he still felt the tight knot of intuition in his gut. It was telling him he was being watched. Who had time to sit around and argue with themselves? Bleu turned the cool metal knob to reveal a thinly carpeted hallway. Many other doors, just like the one he was standing in, lined the hallway and continued onward to the connecting hall to his right. A bulletin board hung next to the door across from him. It had little sayings and motivational quotes. Even a poster of a cat hanging on a tree branch with the saying 'Just hang in there!' was among the mess of papers and push-pins. Somehow he already knew who put that poster up there.

Unsteady fingers gripped the seamless wall for any support while the other hand clutched the baseball bat for a crooked crutch. He made slow progress to the left where the hall ended at a large frost covered window and a large set of push-doors to the window's left. His curiosity was much greater than his will to escape at that moment as he could not help himself but to wipe away a section of the window's frost with the hem of his long-sleeved top. He almost puked at the sight it brought him.

He had vaguely hoped they had not taken him to their main base. He had hoped to be brought to their field base that was across from his own team's field base. He had known deep down-

"But know in here."

That they had taken him to their main base for proper medical treatment and for recovery. And here he stood now, staring out from this third story window taking in the white canvas of snow with the delicate lines of railroad tracks disappearing off to the horizon. He was trapped with nothing but snow to keep him company outside of this prison.

He felt like giving up then.

Was it really worth it? Had he not given it a good shot only to die here? Was this his time and place to die? He was not sure. He was sure, though, that he did have someone waiting for him. Make that three people. Elle, Ivan, and Lyle were somewhere in this vast white landscape, just waiting for him to return home to live out his days as 'Uncle Rain'.

Another spark of determination igniting his frozen body, he again held fast to the bat and stumbled to the push-doors. He knew that the only way out of here would be the train system. If he stole a jeep, he would never make it in the snow and ice. He would die before he got to his own field base. The trains also had a better heating system and were the most reliable. His best bet would be to hide somewhere, anywhere, on that train until another field mission. That was another problem. Would there be a field mission in tomorrow's foretold snow storm? He was not sure he wanted to think that far a head yet.

The large doors did not swing open easily, but when he finally managed to pass their giant swinging boundaries, he found his next most horrendous obstacle.

Stairs. So many damned stairs.

One flight of stairs went upwards to doors he could tell led to the roof of the building. The thin slivers of wired glass on the doors were thick with frost. The flight of stairs to his right lead to another small platform like the one he was standing on, and another set of identical doors. If this was the third floor, that meant that those doors led to the second. Still not what he was looking for. To the left of the lower level doors, there had to be another flight of stairs to the garage section of their base. But then he was using his base as a vague reference...

He shifted his entire weight to the chilled metal railing on the stair's side. Each step was tedious and painful for his aching muscles, but he did what he had to. He made it to the second story platform and collapsed in a heap on the last step. He lied sprawled on the steps, allowing the throbbing to pulse it's way through his skin and leave his body in a calmer heat of sickness. Bleu did not even care if someone were to stumble through those doors and find this scout lying awkwardly on the stairs. All he cared about was the calming of the ache.

He sat bolt upright.

Did he smell something sweet? Something... familiar? Was somebody watching him?

He wrenched his shoulders back to give his vision full access to the first platform he had just left.

Nothing.

He had to hurry.

Bleu hoisted himself back up with the help of the rail, and continued down the next flight of stairs. He felt himself begin to panic as the knot in his gut grew tighter with growing attentiveness. So close to those final doors, yet so far! If these damned stairs would just be easier to get down! Hell, an escalator would be greatly appreciated! But no, he had to stumble down the last three steps of those ungodly stairs and force his way through the doors and into-

Silence.

He was now in a vast parking garage. The ceilings were tall and made of cheap concrete. The kind of concrete that made even the slightest squeak of Bleu's shoes boom throughout the ground level. About twenty all-purpose jeeps lined one wall of the garage. Each silent and frozen from the lack of a working heating unit in the garage. He spotted a large section devoted only to crates of what he guessed was food and weapons. As he hobbled past them, he vaguely wondered if they had ever mixed machine gun rounds for popcorn. A cute thought, but the pain soon made his small smirk vanish. He had to find that damned train! As he made his way further into the garage, the taller the ceilings became until he heard a soft whistling sound. The sound that a fierce wind will make at a metal door. He quickened his pace as fast he could until he came across what he was looking for. Inside the garage, three train cars and an engine stood. The train looked old and tired sitting alone in the garage, yet it seemed ready to come to life, almost anticipating when the great metal doors would rise to give it access to the outside world.

And that's when he heard it.

The faint strums of a guitar coming from within the train.

Oh, God, why from inside the train?

He was not sure what to do at this point. If he stayed out in the garage, he would freeze. He could not bunker down in one of the jeeps for the same reason. His only hope had been that damned train!

Without even thinking, he let out a loud strangled cry of frustration. How could this day get any worse?

"Who's out there?"

No, no, no. Please, do not come out of that train!

Bleu was frozen to the spot. Fear pumping through his veins like a deadly venom, he was forced to only watch in silence as a shadowy form crept from the train's gaping door and walked silently towards him.

"Now Anthony, you know not to bother me when I'm working!" the man laughed sheepishly as he strode closer to Bleu.

It was the team's engineer.

He raised his hand to his helmet-less head and scratched at it nervously.

"Say, Anthony... what's wrong? Is it about that spy we brought back?"

Bleu shook his head, making sure to keep his chin flush against his chest to keep his face from being noticed. He was hoping this guy would take a hint that he wanted to be alone and that he should leave back to the upper floors.

"No?" Bleu shook his head again. "Well then... you should come sit with me. I always feel better when I play a little guitar. Maybe I could teach you a trick or two."

Before Bleu could even shake his head in protest, he felt a powerful arm wrap tightly around his shoulders and pull him towards the train. It was agonizing having to use all his strength to walk properly. As soon as he was sure he was going to pass out from the pain, he found himself sitting side-by-side with the engineer on the train's hard floor. A thin blanket was sprawled for some protection against the icy metal below him, but he could not help but give a small shiver. The engineer seemed perfectly comfortable in the cold midst of the train, and was all too eager to pick up a sheet of paper from one of the many others sprawled along the floor.

"This here is a guitar chord. A chord's like when you play multiple notes at the same time, and they all make a good solid sound," the engineer chuckled, "I'm not sure how else to explain it."

The man looked down at Bleu.

Bleu had dropped the bat to his side and was clutching his limbs to himself to hide the tremors that were beginning to build again. He continued to keep his hat tight to his head and his chin buried into his chest.

"You wouldn't happen to know a better way of explaining it, would you," he raised an eyebrow, "Spy?"

Bleu felt as though his heart was going to seize. How?

"You are that spy we brought in this morning, aren't you? I mean... unless Anthony can grow that tall in such a short amount of time."

He was caught.

"So, how would you explain a chord, Mr. Spy? And don't give me that only speaking French bullshit. Why would they send a man that can't speak English to a base dealing with American intelligence?"

Damn, he was good.

"A combination of three or more pitches sounded simultaneously."

The engineer was taken aback for a moment. He was not expecting him to answer in English, if not at all. A smile soon grew across his face, and he slapped a hand on Bleu's shoulder.

"See, I knew you could word it better than me!" another slap on his shoulder, "How about music? Ya know any?" This statement was followed by the engineer lifting his aged acoustic from his side and strumming a quick chord. Bleu looked up cautiously from the protective brim of his hat.

"I know quite a bit."

"Do you know how to read music? That's something I've been trying to get around to, but with all this fighting... Well, you know how time passes you by." The man set his guitar back down and replaced it with a pad of paper and a pen.

Bleu was not sure how he got into such an awkward predicament, but he was relieved to think about something familiar, even though it had given him a great amount of grief in the past. But he could not just randomly start a conversation with this man. He was the RED engineer. He was the enemy. He could not let him see his face. It was the only card he had left against them, and he greatly wanted to preserve this advantage, no matter how small it was.

Bleu was so deep in thought, he forgot he was blatantly staring at the engineer's face. The man looked to be in his early thirties. Rough stubble covered his masculine jaw line, and his short brown hair was pressed cleanly back against his head. He could not see past the thick goggles though. What color were his eyes?

The Engineer took this opportunity raise a calloused hand and give Bleu a small wave. Bleu paid no attention, still thinking about those impenetrable goggles. He silently shifted his hand and gently took hold of the rim of Blue's hat. It lifted away easily enough to reveal everything. His disheveled hair probably looked worse now, and his eyes should be glassy like how they always got when he was deep in concentration.

"You're just a kid. A tired kid."

This statement seemed to spark the life back in Bleu's eyes as he realized his cover was really blown. Relying on raw instinct and not conscious behavior, he roared with rage and lunged at the man. The engineer, startled, fell backwards under Bleu's momentum as Bleu clung to the man's throat with frozen hands. He was sure he was going to strangle this man to death until something made him stop.

The smell of sweet cologne.

Within an instant, the engineer swung Bleu's body backwards, and landed on top of him. He held his clutching hands above his head and kept his body pinned with one knee to the chest. Blue felt as though his lings was going to burst from the man's weight, but the other man did not seem to acknowledge this.

"You're too weak to take me on, kid. So don't even try it."

And with that the weight was gone and the man was back to sitting against the wall of the train. Blue was not sure he wanted to move.

He lay there feeling. He felt the cold metal below him begin to suck the warmth away from his limbs. The awkward absence of nothing covering his head. The skin of his hands against the floor's smooth surface. The all too big shoes being pushed up by his heels on the floor. He wriggled his toes in the large open space, just to make sure he was still alive.

"You don't look too good. You look pretty blue... not to mean that as a joke."

Did it look like he was laughing?

Bleu shifted a hand into the front pocket of the scout's brown shorts and withdrew his wrinkled mask. He silently slipped the material over his head until the hem fit snug with the top of his throat. The mask smelled of his old life. It brought back the memories which he violently pushed back. This was no time to be dwelling.

"What are you going to do with me?"

Silence.

"I'll make you a deal."

Bleu rolled onto his side and placed a hand under his chin. He stared at those emotionless goggles until a smile blossomed on the engineer's face and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes finally gave the goggles a since of mischievous amusement.

"You teach me about music."

Bleu watched as the creases grew deeper.

"And then this night never happened."

"'ow can I trust you?" Bleu asked cautiously.

"I'm a man of my word," the engineer put his hand over his heart as though he were offended, " and anyway, what room do you have to bargain?"

Good point.

Bleu held out a hand to the engineer.

"My name's Noah. Everyone calls me Big Tex though," the engineer laughed as he shook the hand held before him.

"They call me..."

He heard something shuffle outside of the train's door. Bleu jerked his shoulder's around to look, but whatever it was, it was gone. The only remnant of it's appearance was it's faint, sweet odor.

"Bleu."