003 — CHAPTER THREE
day one .
"Perhaps it was a punishment."
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"I didn't think you would need me this early," Belgrade frowned, dabbing an alcohol swab on Rio's temple. They had slipped her out, moments after the catastrophic guise of theft. The hostages remained blindfolded, allowing Nairobi to take her without being seen. A tight wrinkle formed a folding bridge between her feathered brows, speaking in the place of her verbal silence.
Nairobi's slender fingers combed her hair in frustration, a panicked look swept over her features. Denver screamed extremely vexed and perplexed over Tokyo's rashness. The first error was made and blood was shed. Shit, they were not meant to physically hurt anyone or care. But what were rules to a band of criminals?
"Explain to me what the fuck that was! You opened fire at an officer," Denver violently spat. "Are you insane?"
"Calm down. An officer came out of nowhere and shot at me. What would you have done?" Tokyo huffed. "Spit at him?"
The doctor continued to tend after a shaken Rio. Her delicate fingers provided a gentle, sisterly touch that grazed over his wound. It was no serious wound, only a simple abrasion that marked his bloody luck. The bullet had fortunately missed his eye and his skull. The boy rippled his foot on the floorboards, resonating a series of anxious and peeved vibrations. Belgrade's green eyes traced his ecstatic foot for a second, before Rio tried to plead. How she wished he stayed silent.
"I fell from the impact. She covered me-"
"Shut up!" Denver screamed. Spurts of his saliva sprayed the air, and a vein popped from his temple. "We also covered you but by shooting the ground, not directly at the police."
Nadia slammed her hands on the door, giving Moscow's son a hard look. "Can you just shut up!" she solicited. He clenched his jaw, remaining silent. The Turk expected Denver to counter with some angry retrot, but instead he backed away, hearing footsteps emerge from the door.
Nadia slammed her hands on the table, just as firmly as Moscow's son had. She met his level, matching his wildly angry gaze with an authoritative one. "Can't you all just shut up!" she solicited. He clenched his jaw, remaining unfinished. She expected him to counter with some angry retort, but instead retreated, hearing reminders of the grander scheme of things emerge from behind her. Automatically, her body straightened itself.
A tense pause hovered above their heads. Berlin's chill attitude was unnerving.
After a while, he gaped his bowed mouth and broke the pause. "They're taking the wounded cops away," he informed. "Are the phones connected?"
Tokyo glared resentfully. Belgrade withdrew her arms, stepping away to make way for Rio to bide by their leader's firm order. His hands fumbled quickly to connect the red telephone with the wires needed to communicate with the Professor. Berlin smoothly took his earpiece off, doe eyes directing a heavy stare at the medic. There was a cool whiff of ambiguity that remained as a wallflower, there but unnoticed. "Drop any radio and wireless signal," he ordered, brushing past Nadia's shoulder.
She detached herself from the situation.
Berlin collected their earpieces, throwing it into the office's fish tank. "Call the Professor," he said, watching the small electronic device cascade like snowfall south to the pebbles. Her eyes followed his figure as he came over and plopped himself across her. He reached for the phone.
"What happened?" the Professor asked.
"Two cops wounded."
"Who shot?"
Berlin's eyes directed themselves to Tokyo, commanding her to turn the cameras before providing an answer. "Rio got grazed, and Tokyo fired," he outed. "Apparently they're involved."
Tokyo's eyes widened. Her thoughts were rampant with words, but bit her tongue. Her jaw clenched hatefully. Any word that came out of her mouth would be cause for another argument. He extended his expectant hand, slightly shrugging in indifference. Perhaps it was a punishment. She yanked it out of his hand, violently standing. Berlin returned, meeting Belgrade's disagreeing and questioning eyes. He couldn't care less, and cocked his head.
The afternoon passed without other interruptions, unless one considers Denver's show of power to be such a matter. Nadia was huddled with the other hostages, changed out of her scholarly uniform and into the gang's red jumpsuits. They were free of the blindfolds, allowing them to witness whatever the hell it was that was happening.
Berlin allowed Denver to assume the role of bully, amused by his show of power over the squabbling mice. He had flashed her a mischievous curve of the mouth, somehow teasing over their tiny excursion. A gentle reassurance brewed in his treacle eyes, met only with a vacant reply. As part of the ploy, they gifted hostages with artisanal counterfeit weapons, whose appearance were masterfully curated and scrutinized. It looked, sounded, and felt the part. It would be difficult to distinguish who was who when the mask veiled their faces.
Hers, however, was real. The only counterfeit was her.
She wasn't entertained with the idea of having a true weapon with her, but after some persuasion by the Professor, she agreed without much poise; disgruntled. The presence of a true weapon in the pocket of her jumpsuit left much distaste in her mouth.
Helsinki with Tokyo and Nairobi circled around them in laps, arms cradling their giant guns, relaxed against their chests. They all sat obediently still, comforted by bottles of water. She looked across Monica Gaztambide, the secretary to the Director of Mint, observing as she and Arturo argued in whispers. She deduced a relationship outside of coworkers; something that read illicit affairs.
Since the initial panic of the heist had set in, Belgrade washed her face with calmness, imagining the face of her mentor, who always seemed to be indifferent by the sheer panic the moment's notice was supposed to have. She was by no means an actress, but it wasn't hard to Anastasia. They designed her as someone "gentle but bold, genuinely calm and kind, intelligent" and other things they perceived a doctor to be.
Nairobi trekked over, putting a stop to the lovers' squabble, protecting her from Arturo. Monica was apparently pregnant. Nadia glanced over the Director, deeming him absolutely obtuse. Academic intelligence was admirable, but Mr. Roman showed no admirable traits. Perhaps it was prejudice, but it didn't change what it was.
The telephone rang.
The National Intelligence was coming to intervene to collect their little lamb, Alison Parker. The prized daughter of a British diplomat. Everything the Professor described that afternoon was becoming realized. There was no threat of death looming over their heads that chilly noon, with their breathless lungs and chaffed faces. But today, that threat too hung on the echo of the intense ringing. They would be breathless, but not because of a friendly match over lunch, but because they would be dead. Their faces would be pale and numb.
Simply a cold body, marked by a bloody hole.
Berlin turned around, they were coming. Through the exit, entrance, rooftop--any entrance, they were surrounding them. But they'll wait, to let the Intervention Team explore the area, and there, they'll deter them. All they waited for was the Professor's ring.
Berlin turned around. They were coming. Through the exit, entrance, rooftop--any entrance: they were surrounding them. But they'll wait to let the Intervention Team explore the area, and there, they'll deter them, signalled by the mastermind's ring.
"People!" Berlin commenced. "It's time! The time to follow my orders have come!"
They all stood obediently, assembling a scurrying line behind the robbers. Belgrade stowed her weapon and mask, following the train, gathering at the loading zone. They stationed themselves around the Serbian cousins' crafted barricades, and waited with their artillery. They stood like toy soldiers waiting. At that moment, Alison was making a public announcement, as the Intervention Team whirred their device to see them, hostages and robbers, behind heavy artillery.
The whirring halted.
The device wasn't discernible to Belgrade. It was far too minuscule, but it was surely there. She held the weapon stiffly, breath hot and heavy in the mask. They would go. It was the simple embolism she'd eliminate in an hour's time.
The clock went tick-tock...tick-tock...
They aborted the mission. Adjourning the game, realizing the masterful player they played against. It was an impossible mission to try and infiltrate.
She heaved a sigh of relief.
And then, twenty minutes after that, the press would start working. The mechanical murmur of the presses whispered in her ears. She hid her relief under the nonchalance of Anastasia.
Phase one was complete. The first day was over, and she was alive.
author's note !
so a bit of a short chapter.
it's a bit more like a filler but how was it?
hopefully you guys enjoyed!
on another note, thank you guys for
getting appetence to 900+ it means so much
to me. and i'm glad people are reading the story!
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APPETENCE.