A Desperate Cure

I always appreciate your REVIEWS:

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MOONSTAR

Yay! You update! I absolutely LOVE Martin! He's hilarious! And he makes me laugh left and right...xDD He just can't get over it. *squee!* =^.^=

"Martin Caldwell would not be caught dead in trousers and boots." xDD He's perfect I swear! His curtsying, disecting of the dress-code to find acceptable clothes...^-^ So much happiness. You've got his character down to an art.

Anyways...the chapter was awesome too. Not to wordy, some dialogue again (yay!). Nice mix! I envy your imagination on the exact details of this building...goodness gracious...that's the thing I couldn't do if my life depended on it........well...maybe then...but other than that! :gonk: *not a mechanical/building/detail related person* xP ^^;

Waiting eagerly for the next chapter!

-Moonstar

Moonstar, thanks for reviewing again. You know how much I appreciate your continuing support. I’m glad you like Martin. He’s a trip to write… I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean to be funny. He makes me giggle, too! The building was a funny thing: I originally set the labs in the old embassy building. But Delia’s character short-circuited that plan (in addition to the fact that the Embassy didn’t move out of the building before Delia started her team) because she simply wouldn’t accept such a lack of aestheticism surrounding her daily. Can’t say I blame her!

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SARAH BRIDGET

Quite nice. Dr. Stephen Gasteyer’s purpose eludes me, but perhaps you plan to use him later? You have a tendency to add extreme detail into the lives of minor characters…but then again, I may just be critical. ^_~ The passage beginning with “The offices of Brack, Dever, Poole, and Manhalter…” Started off with a nice description of this “Reitz” building you have created. Somewhere in the second paragraph, I began loosing interest the exact details of the forgotten servant corridors, and by the time I got to the last paragraph, I read about five words in the lot of it. I caught mini-skirted lawyer. I do hope you didn’t put something terribly important in there?

Other than that, you’re most definitely improving, and as hard as it is to admit, your fruity fanboy *throws pom poms at him* does have the occasional good point. Your writing is becoming less wordy…at least when you have a couple characters to work with. Once you get on a roll with a single character, or physical descriptions though...a bulldozer couldn’t stop you.

As a side note, Martin amuses me to no end. (Another point I find myself begrudgedly agreeing with your personal cheerleader…you should put him in a skirt someday…) Compared to the endless paragraphs of block format detail…you add in him in and liven the whole place up. Terrific character, sweetheart (and such a lovely contrast for Alina, no?). Not that anything with a cup-size would ever catch his interest…

~Sarah

SB, glad you approve of the progress of the story so far. I certainly hope there won’t be anything in the parts you skipped that you’ll need later. Of course, your grudging approval is only fodder for my egomania, so you’ll have to continue your flogging after the next chapter as well. Dr. Gasteyer’s purpose eludes you after three paragraphs? Can’t say I’m surprised, but for the benefit of my other readers, I do have to at least introduce him. Sorry if the Reitz building was too involved for you, but I’m beginning to think the only way my story wouldn’t be too fleshy for you would be if I wrote it in outline form. I love Martin, too… we can definitely agree there. It’s a shame that’s only a side note. Oh! On the subject of my ‘endless paragraphs of block format detail’—I’ve realized that my typing in 7 pt. when I compose prevents me realizing exactly how long those paragraphs seem when they’re posted. I’ll do what I can. Yes, just for you. But only one favor per month! Anyhow… see you next chapter!! Thanks again for your review.

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Author’s Note: Special quotes, e.g., <<…>> indicate sentiments that are sent from one mind to another without verbal speech. They can only be heard by the parties to whom they are directed.

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VI.

A battered security camera housing was mounted on the wall opposite the elevator on the thirteenth floor. Within, three cameras functioned. The Reitz security employees were only aware of one; the internal parts of the camera that had been installed in the building after a push-in robbery involving one of Mrs. Reitz’s personal friends. The government had installed a second camera alongside the first, a three-inch housing holding the digital data within the plastic casing and capturing the images for the benefit of Parliamentary Congress watchdog groups and the liberal press. The third was comprised of a lens one centimeter in diameter, controlled by remote with the images sent wirelessly to a recording unit seventy-five meters away, within the offices of Brack, Dever, Poole, and Manhalter.

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Jake Stearn was bored. He had been hired by the government as a computer specialist, a general umbrella term that the bureaucrats had thrown into the budget to cover their assets. He could as easily have been a tech support geek as a computer programmer for all the difference it would have made to the accounting department. His talents were positively wasted. What he was was mind-bogglingly brilliant.

Delia had taken one look at the impressive list of his (occasionally illegal) exploits and requested him for her team. The bureaucrats above her figured she wanted an IT guy to change the toner and un-paper-jam the printer, and assigned the underage prodigy a security clearance. She had almost no fight with them, because Jake had an attitude that would have made Al Capone cringe.

Dark glasses formed a protective barrier between his alcohol-clouded eyes and the fluorescent lighting of the office. Jake ought to have been in the office since midnight, his eight-hour shift of vigilant surveillance and cordial reception ended at eight a. m. No graveyard shift was ever more mind-numbing. So Jake conveniently rigged a personal alarm. If anyone was scheduled to be in the office, he’d get a ping on his phone. He was usually irritably ensconced in his padded wheelie-chair before anyone knew he hadn’t been monitoring the screens at the front desk all night.

Tonight’s ping had found him semi-intoxicated and feeling fine, his legs straddling the scantily-clad bottom of an underwear model in the VIP lounge at Key. The cab fare back to the Reitz building cost him his first two hours’ salary, but at least he wouldn’t be hearing it from Dr. Caldwell when she came in.

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The double-ding of the elevator’s arrival was immediately preceded by a flashing pop-up on Jake’s screen. He straightened from his slumped posture, his eyes glued to the black-and-white screen as a pale blonde, serene and graceful, exited the elevator, accompanied by a large wolfish-looking dog. His eyes swept her trail for trackers, his fingers slid over the keyboard like a pianist playing one of Chopin’s waltzes. When Martin followed her off the elevator, Jake relaxed again. So this was Alina! And that would be Gerad, the only dog that pulled a salary…

Jake’s heart raced and his palms began to sweat as Alina’s figure darkened the glass panes of the office door. He immediately resumed his scowl, determined not to show his nervousness as the threesome entered the office. She was beautiful, and he was stuck in this pathetic excuse for a job, welcoming guests like the receptionist at the free clinic. How could he even hope to impress her if all she’d get to see of him was his ability to make coffee and page other people- responsible, useful people?

As the door swung open on rusty hinges, he settled on a well-practiced air of disdain. If he couldn’t seem important, at least she could know he was too good for this place. “Good morning and welcome to Brack-Dever,” he mumbled, not really bothering to open his mouth. He looked down absently at his screen, as though something vital had his attention and he simply couldn’t tear himself away, even to receive the agents. “D’you want coffee or would you just like to wait?”

Alina smirked toward Martin and crossed the reception area, watching the intern out of the corner of her eye as she hung her coat on the rack. “You new here?”

Jake did his best to keep his face from betraying him when he realized the female agent was talking to him. She had undone her pants and was busily tucking her uniform shirt in, and Jake couldn’t help but stare at the small triangle of pale flesh revealed at her belly.

“Hey, I’m up here, and I asked you a question. They borrow you from Traffic?”

On any other day, he would have noticed the implied insult. Instead he found his thoughts muddled, a hazy mirage of half-naked images occupying his forward mind and rendering him speechless. Martin quietly pulled Alina’s logo jacket out of her bag, carefully keeping her peripherals from falling out of the duffel. He was a little too tongue-tied himself to say anything.

Martin’s eyes flickered over the intern’s dress shoes, noticing a small piece of napkin stuck to the left heel. He mentally digested this new information, considering how likely it was that this young buck had been at a bar while he himself, twenty-nine and slightly more experienced, was staring shyly at a bakery delivery boy, unable to find the words to do more than mumble. It wasn’t that he was shy, though that was certainly true to a certain extent. He simply found it awkward to make himself the open and obvious target when he could instead allow himself to be chased.

Alina’s sharp eyes caught the red flashing light on the conference phone. “Never mind, young’un. We’ll just be on our way. “ She nodded to the message indicator. “You might want to check your messages.”

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The sound of Delia’s voice came through the tinny speakers and followed the threesome down the hallway.

Martin carried his bag and Alina’s while she struggled her arms into her uniform jacket. The wolf padded quietly along beside them, his nails snagging annoyingly on the grey commercial carpet. It would take forever to get the little carpet fibers out from between his toes.

Alina’s voice sounded reassuringly in his mind. <>

Gerad sent her a warm feeling of gratitude, carefully stepping over the threshold into Dr. Caldwell’s’ thirteenth-floor office. Martin was inside already, logging into the screen on the desk. A small panel slid open on the far wall, and Alina and Gerad crossed the office to stand before the exposed rectangle of grey metal. Alina and Martin each produced a key, which they inserted into side-by-side locks. “Count of three?”

Martin smirked. “Why not make it interesting this time? Count of seven.”

Alina knew him too well. “One…” She watched his forearm. She tensed her fingers on the key. “Gerad, close the door.”

Martin’s voice: “Two.” They simultaneously turned their keys, and Alina smiled at Martin’s disappointed pout.

“It’s all right, Martin. Tomorrow you can be cute. Today it’s my job to know you well enough to get us downstairs before your mother hands me a body bag instead of a patient file.”

A loud grinding noise sounded, thirty seconds of ear-drum thrumming that sounded very much like a jackhammer ripping up the asphalt outside. Gerad ducked his head and pawed his left ear. Alina’s calm spread over him like a blanket, and he slid his paw down over his nose, exposing one eye. Seeing her face and the gaping hole in the wall, Gerad eagerly stood, forgot the carpet, and nearly tripped. Martin hoisted the bags, Alina dropped to a crouch, and Gerad padded over to her. The three walked between the exposed drywall and the bookcase, then Martin flipped a switch on the darkened interior wall, and fluorescent lights illuminated the old wooden stairwell. The same switch activated the in the wall, and it slid shut seamlessly, the jagged edges of wallpaper coming together and sealing behind the edge of the bookcase.

(A/N: I hope to produce chapter 7 for public view wednesday 1feb2006)