Trapezoid (The Base)

Chapter 35

Author's note: 

I'd like to start this all with an apology. I am so sorry for my late updates. It's like the fact that I'm nearly done sinks deep in my brain that procrastinitis kicks in so hard. Forgive me. Anyway, here ya go!

Fingers jittering furiously made it quite a task to type. Chris discovered that breathing through the mouth lowered her tension. This was a secure connection—her diary-slim laptop—thanks to Michael. There was no way cameras would be mounted in a position that gave a view of the person sitting on the toilet lid. She was safe. So why was she so anxious?

Maybe it was because of what she was doing—sending additional information on to D. Smith. It turned out that she had been wrong in her guess that the gas cylinders would be already installed on the premises of the museum. Her next wild guess was that Richard was too smart to have them sitting there idly. Her guess was that they would probably be installed the night before the concert. But all these were just the products of her mind. All this, she wasn't telling D. Smith.

She typed in the last word of her report and sighed. Now it was known where the laboratory was—under the estate. It was a high probability that the cylinders were in fact, still there. Whether her insert of her own opinion not to raid the place just yet would be heeded was unlikely. But maybe Smith would have enough of a heart not to call a raid. Chris had a sick feeling that Richard Greenwood would vanish if it happened. Like a ghost, he'd disappear. And knowing it was her doing, find a way to kill her. No, she was in a tight spot—too tight to dare move or something will tear—and tear badly.

She gave off the fact of the post she'd be in the concert—on the arm of the villain.

Wouldn't Smith be pleasantly surprised! She mused ironically.

She flushed nothing and left her bathroom, "dairy" under her arm. She suddenly regretted askingfor backup for that day. Why did she feel like the Grim Reaper was almost at her door—with the face of Richard Greenwood? Trying to convince herself she was suffering from an overactive imagination was failing. She was certain that CIA would get the branch of the police that dealt with bombs and so on site, but the main concern was for Greenwood to be caught. But how was she not going to get tangled in the web?

She did her best to serve Madam Greenwood with the utmost care and meticulousness, but the dark foreboding cloud of the unknown outcomes of the event only a week away would not vanish. Her anxiety should be mixed with excitement. This was what she'd been waiting for. This case was closing. Home was so near—whether the United States or Heaven, she didn't know.

But Levi. . .

He made it all the worse.

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Sally took her job more than seriously. But her target's evasiveness was excellent. She still had no idea even where he lived! And now she hardly met up with him since he lost his job at the fast food restaurant. Rumors had it that he got fired because he dunked a milkshake on the head of a patron. It was as if he was looking to get fired for such a juvenile offence.

But she wasn't giving up. She was being paid for this. Maybe she was overly curious about people that just preferred to remain extremely private, but after her meeting with the dirty-rich blonde guy, her curiosity proved not to be unfounded. And about the lady, Sally didn't have to guess whether she was either wacko or up to something big. She hadn't told her "boss" about the time she met her holding a firearm though. No, that would be her last resort.

In all this, the thought never crossed her mind that she would be the hand in something fatally dangerous.

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Michael had been busy. It was now only a few days until this whole thing wrapped up—although designing a special weapon that easily got through scanners was not his only busying factor. After all, this whole thing was about to end. He reasoned that he was securing another job for himself. No one was going to get hurt. But for now, he was playing it all low key.

But as he worked on a firing weapon that would easily slip into the heel of a woman's high heel shoe, all that had his attention was the Trapezoid's day of action—the end of the month. Hopper had sent a diagram of the shoe she'd be wearing and Michael had designed the weapon accordingly. He'd heard the escapade of how the young lady had used her shoes to slow down the guys who'd chased her down the school hallway. With the right aim, she'd completely paralyze a limb for a full thirty minutes—although this time she had no need to throw her shoes. Who was the genius?

Stevens, however, was leading the squad to apprehend Greenwood. To Michael's relieve, he wasn't creating anything for him. He was sort of partly with MI5—the guys who'd deal with disarming or removing the toxic gas cylinders.

Lisa. Well, he wasn't sure what she would be involved in. He didn't even know where she was! All he knew was that she was somewhere in the British Isle, but that was it.

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Sweat streamed down Levi's bare back and forehead. His fists met his victim, a punching bag, with force. Alone in a private gym away from the eyes of gawking on-lookers, he unleashed himself. It felt better than the usual ways of working out. With every kick or punch, thoughts, plans, and ideas were mulled over.

What mostly occupied his mind was the same thing in all the sides of the Trapezoid—though slightly different. His first goal was to make sure Greenwood didn't get away. Second, he had to make sure Chris Hopper would safely slip out of the heat—heat he hoped, almost prayed would not follow. Things would be more difficult considering that quite a number of people would be together in one building.

Greenwood's advantage. Their disadvantage.

The idea to stop the so-called special people from attending proved to be foolish enough. Greenwood would catch on, and attack in his rage—rage no one wanted to risk. That led to his third goal—make it out in one piece.

"Are you done attacking the poor bag?"

Levi turned to face his new friend, William. He'd apologized for the fight they'd had, but William laughed himself to tears. After all this, Levi knew he'd miss the guy. "Why?" he asked, panting healthily.

The chestnut-haired, thirty-three year old agent grinned, but said nothing.

Levi Stevens left the gym, standing still to soak up the warmth of the sun. He huffed out a breath as he mounted his two-wheeled roaring machine. He felt sick to his gut that something may not play out well. Yes, everything was put in order—as much order as was possible. They were unaware of the preparations on the other side—the dark side.

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Lisa was filled with more and more excitement as the day rolled closer and closer. Her days in the circus would not stand in comparison with how she felt now. A ninja's life couldn't even hold a spark.

Nothing had happened yet, but she could feel it in her veins. Either things were going to go perfectly—or all wrong. All she prayed was that she wouldn't be the cause if things turned sour. She was living in a tight spot already. She usually didn't think twice before she spoke. She found herself doing that often these days. It was a strain on the brain cells, she reasoned. But that torture would soon be over in two days time.