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Carl
#1
[Image: BB323D74-1AA0-4E48-9F7C-C6A55D77BA61_zpsmgn1t1r9.jpg]


The phone rang and an elbow jabbed him in the ribs.
"Who is calling at this hour?" Safa grumbled.
Carl snatched the wallet from the bedside table, rubbing his eyes as he did. When he saw the number he immediately sat up.
"I will take this in the kitchen," he said. Slipping his feet into houseshoes, he quickly shuffled out of the room. Safa was asleep again before he even shut the door.

Navigating the dark apartment by the light of the wallet, he answered the moment he entered the kitchen.
"Carl Kincaid," he said softly so not to waken Safa. Their apartment was tiny, only three rooms. In the central district of Moscow, it was all they could afford.

The voice on the other end spoke a few moments, then Carl felt the blood drain from his face. He rushed to the wall screens and padded the command for the tv.

Drenched in the blue light of the news, he absorbed the scenes on replay. Two ambulances departed the gates of the Kremlin. He put a hand to his forehead, jaw dropped wide when the images of the hospital interior were played. He immediately recognized the images as derived from hospital security feeds, and a knot formed in his gut.

"I'll be there in thirty minutes." He flipped on the coffeemaker and hurried to dress.

***

Thirty-two minutes later.

Carl cursed himself for forgetting his coat. All he had was the rumpled jacket of his suit, which he huddled down into for warmth. The pre-dawn air was frigid.

He anticipated the building that housed the Consulate on Digital Strategy and Security to be dim and empty. Instead, he found it bustling and bright. He must not have been the only one to get a call to come in.

Fumbling with his badge between numb fingers, he paused to look down the street just as the door unlocked. The Red Square lay three blocks away and even from this distance he could make out the noise of crowds and see the lights of the Kremlin reflected on the low-hanging clouds overhead. To think the place was nearly obliterated tonight, he shivered and ducked in.

A series of security measures awaited passage. Handprints, retinal scan, even a quick read DNA sequencer were required. Soon, he gained full admittance to the heart of Custody digital security Consulate. As a strategist, he only had his cubicle, but as he passed the director's office, he knocked on the window to alert them he had arrived. The scent of fresh coffee was heavy on the air. He poked his head in the door as the director looked up from his desk. The man was in his late fifties with thin gray hair and a square jaw. Like Carl, he wore a rumpled suit. He also dressed in a hurry. Carl hated to know who it was that called the director in the middle of the night to get to work.

"I'm getting coffee and I'll get right to work."

He dropped his stuff at his cubicle, snatched his usual cup, wiped it out with his sleeve and stalked off to the break room.
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Messages In This Thread
[No subject] - by Ascendancy - 10-04-2016, 05:22 PM
[No subject] - by Ascendancy - 10-04-2016, 10:43 PM
[No subject] - by Ascendancy - 10-04-2016, 11:14 PM
[No subject] - by Ascendancy - 10-05-2016, 11:51 AM
[No subject] - by Ascendancy - 10-06-2016, 01:42 PM
[No subject] - by Ascendancy - 10-13-2016, 07:44 PM
[No subject] - by Sage - 01-16-2017, 02:41 PM

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